Tell No Tales
by Demi-Saiyajin Prodigy
Summary: (Complete) Even death never gives Kuririn a break. After his demise at the hands of Frieza, he once again is not granted due process. Though resigned to this at first, Kuririn soon learns of a reason to take his fate into his own hands.
1. Filing FoulUp

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. It and its characters are property of Akira Toriyama and Bird Studios and were used without prior permission.  
  
Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER ONE: Filing Foul-Up  
  
Some people wondered why they never seemed to get any breaks in life. Things like why they were born into screwed up families. Why they couldn't get a job that paid well and that they enjoyed. Why they couldn't have a romantic relationship that worked. Honestly, Kuririn did not blame these kinds of people, for he'd often been one of them himself, but he found himself wondering about something that was a smidge more important at the moment.  
  
Namely, why he didn't seem to get any breaks in death, either.  
  
Oh sure, this was better than how he'd ended up after his first death; that time, he remembered only a vague sense of drifting. Some side effect of having been killed by a demon, he'd been told. At least this time he had consciousness and a body to go with it. Still, things weren't going right.  
  
He glanced about, taking in his surroundings. Things looked normal enough, he supposed, though he really didn't have much idea of how things should have looked in Otherworld. But the pale, endless sky, and the equally endless stretch of fluffy yellow clouds (which he happened to be standing upon, he noticed) seemed enough what the afterlife should look like to him. Of course, there was one nagging little problem.  
  
Judgement. Kuririn may not have had any experience on this particular plane, but he did know that he was supposed to wait in line to have his life reviewed and an eternal living assignment (or afterliving assignment, more appropriately) handed down to him. This he had gleaned from stories back at Orinji temple, and more directly from Muten Roshi after the old master's death and subsequent resurrection.  
  
So far, there was no line, no review, and no assignment. Just what exactly was going on here?  
  
Souls were eternal. Kuririn knew that. But just because something was eternal, that didn't mean that it had to be patient. He was dead for good this time, and thus he might as well get the process over with. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do at the moment.  
  
Though he no longer possessed any discernable ki, he found it surprisingly easy to raise himself into the air. He hung there for a moment, wondering which direction to choose. Finally, he shrugged. One way was as good as another, after all. He gathered himself –  
  
"Hey, buddy!" shouted a nasal voice behind him. Startled, Kuririn fell flat on his face, bringing up a bit of cloud dust. "Where did you think you were going? We've got procedures here, you know."  
  
Kuririn picked himself up and turned to face the speaker. He didn't know exactly what he had been expecting, but what he saw wasn't it. Only a head taller than him, the figure had pale blue skin, slicked back hair, and what appeared to be a pair of stubby horns on its head. What was even stranger was that it was dressed like an office worker, right down to the tie, and carried a clipboard in one hand.  
  
"Sometimes I hate this job. People from the mortal world can be so frustrating," the figure – an office demon, he recalled – shook his head, flipping through the pages on the clipboard. Eventually, he paused, apparently finding what he was looking for. "Kuririn, right?"  
  
Kuririn blinked. "Uh . . . yeah, that's right. But how did you –"  
  
The office demon glanced up at him for a second, looking vaguely annoyed, before looking down at the papers again. "Kuririn Chestnut. Age twenty- five. Human native of the planet Earth. Killed by Frieza through the means of an explosion set off inside the body, and this is your second death." He lifted up the clipboard and tapped it with one finger. "All right here in your file, buddy."  
  
"My file?"  
  
"Well, of course," the office demon answered, sounding exasperated. "How did you think we kept track of things around here?"  
  
Kuririn did not really have an answer for that. The people – or demons, or whatever – that worked here must have a lot to keep track of. Having personal files for everyone made as much sense as anything else. Actually it made more sense than most things.  
  
"Come along now, shorty, I'm a busy demon."  
  
The office demon turned on his heel, and began to walk away. Kuririn, not knowing what else to do, followed closely behind him. He continued to take in his surroundings, though they bored him pretty quickly. There had to be more to the afterlife than clouds and sky, right?  
  
And this assumption proved true. In the distance, Kuririn could now see a building rising up over the clouds. A simple white, with red sloping roofs, it looked like an Earth palace. And leading up to that was a long walkway, with curious white wisps lined up upon it.  
  
That must be Judgement. Well good. Something was actually going to go right for him for a change.  
  
He was so busy staring at the palace, that he did not notice that the office demon had altered his course slightly, and was jarred back into reality by his voice. "Hey, buddy, stop gawking would you? We're going over here!"  
  
Kuririn turned, embarrassed that he'd been caught daydreaming, but confused as to the situation. "Where are we going? Isn't that Judgement?"  
  
The office demon nodded. "Yep, it sure is."  
  
Okay . . . "Then why aren't we going there?"  
  
The office demon stopped and turned to face him, frowning. "You ask too many questions. We're not going there because some other matters need to be taken care of first."  
  
Other matters? Great. That was what he got for thinking for even the briefest of seconds that things were going to go his way. Why did he ever believe that? He didn't exactly have a good track record.  
  
Still, with no other choice, Kuririn continued to follow the office demon as it headed into a tiny building at the side of the palace. He was ready for whatever strange fate was awaiting him.  
  
The inside of the room was just as unimpressive as the outside had been. The walls were unadorned, and the floor a plain brown. The only distinguishing feature – and one that hardly filled him with confidence – was a large, clunky looking computer perched on a desk.  
  
The demon strode up to the computer, and began pressing buttons, occasionally looking down at the papers in his hands. And the frown that slowly appeared on his face was as unencouraging as the ancient computer.  
  
"Hmm . . ." said the demon, face thoughtful. Kuririn, for his part, merely stood still and waited for the bomb to drop. "Well, that's funny. I seem to be having a hard time accessing most of your previous files."  
  
Kuririn frowned in disbelief. "What do you mean you can't access my old files? Aren't they sitting in your hand right there?"  
  
The demon looked up. "Oh no, this is just the basic identification information. You know, name, origin, age, time and manner of death . . . Just the basic stuff."  
  
"Fine," Kuririn said. "But why does that mean that you can't bring up the details?"  
  
"You're such an impatient thing." The demon clicked a few more keys before continuing. "Your particular details were relegated to the back of the system, since you weren't under our jurisdiction the first time you died. We just made a note of it, and pushed it back. Your files must not have been transferred over to the new system yet."  
  
Wearily, Kuririn sighed. Why was his first death always coming back to haunt him?  
  
"Not that you were going to be heading anywhere else right away, but this will slow your case down."  
  
Yep, just another typical day for old Kuririn. Dead or not, why should everything proceed properly? He could not even muster up the energy to sigh. He was just too exhausted, too resigned.  
  
The office demon tucked his file under his arm. "Well no sense in delaying this any longer. Come along, shorty."  
  
"My name is Kuririn."  
  
The office demon did not seem to take notice of this, and Kuririn just didn't feel like pressing the issue. Yet again he followed blindly, in a spiralling staircase that progressed ever downward. The sky around him changed from the palest of blues to an unnatural red, which didn't seem like a good sign. The red sky he could deal with – it wasn't as nice as the green sky on Nameksei, but was not particularly scary after the initial shock had passed. It was more the downward part of it that worried him. Downward in the afterlife. Popular symbolism told Kuririn that this was probably not a good turn of events.  
  
Surely he could not be going to . . . Yeah, he was no paragon of virtue, especially in his youth. He had been kind of a nasty little kid. But he had gotten over it. Sweat began to pour down his face as they continued on the downward spiral of clouds, as his mind filled with awful visions of his destination. He had thought that he'd made up for most of his past wrongdoings. Well enough to avoid getting him into afterlife trouble, anyway.  
  
Of course, he had screwed a lot of things up. How many bad decisions had he made back on Nameksei? More than he could count. But someone had had to make the decisions. Bulma was too busy screaming about her personal hygiene problems which she blamed on the planet, and Gohan was just a child. And until recently, Goku had not even been there . . .  
  
But maybe he had screwed up one thing too many, and that's why he was going to end up in . . .  
  
He let out a huge breath of relief as his escort stopped descending and that he was now walking a level path. This time, Kuririn was more than happy to follow.  
  
Of course he wasn't going to be eternally punished. The idea was silly. He'd just been kidding himself; he'd known he wouldn't end up there all along.  
  
Still, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a scream beside him. The scream came for the other side of a door, but it may as well have been right in his ear for all the volume that it produced. He held his throbbing head for a moment and asked his escort, "What in the world was that?"  
  
"What was what?" his escort asked, looking over his shoulder.  
  
How could the little blue demon even be asking that? "That scream that would have made my ears bleed if I still had blood."  
  
The office demon smiled knowingly. "Oh, that. I guess I've just tuned it out over the years. Just some eternal torment going on. Ironic Punishment division."  
  
Ironic Punishment division, huh? Darned if the afterlife didn't have a sense of humour. Sounded like an awfully weird place to end up. Weird and disturbing, though Kuririn assumed that was the whole point.  
  
"Ah, here we are."  
  
Kuririn turned his attention back to the world at hand as they reached a door. This one was right in from of them, as if at the end of a hallway, though there were no walls that could have completed that picture. The demon opened the door and motioned for Kuririn to follow him inside.  
  
Kuririn complied, and his eyes were met with a very similar picture of the afterlife that he'd seen above. Only this one was populated. Most were white wisps, like the ones he had see lined up outside of Judgement, but a few, like him appeared at least vaguely humanoid. "What is this place?"  
  
"Oh this is the Relegation Room," answered the demon, checking something off on his clipboard. "All problem cases are sent here until Lord Enma has time to deal with them at Judgement."  
  
Ah. So he was to be brushed aside for a while. Again, not much difference from his life. At least here, there was someone to talk to. "All right then. Say, how long you figure it will take before I get in to see Lord Enma?"  
  
"Hm?" Apparently, he'd caught the demon off guard. For whatever reason, the little blue creature looked like he was about to edge out the door. "Oh, it depends. Variables and all that. But I'm sure that it wouldn't take more than seventy or eighty years."  
  
Kuririn nodded. Well, that didn't seem so . . . Hold on a second. "Seventy or eighty years?"  
  
"Hey," the demon responded, just as he was closing the door, "We're really busy." 


	2. The Relegation Room

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER TWO: The Relegation Room  
  
Kuririn tried to chase after the office demon, but he had no luck. The door had inexplicably vanished. Just wonderful. What was he supposed to do now? The answer came, and it was not one that he liked: wait the seventy or eighty years. He hated his life.  
  
No, scratch that – he hated his afterlife.  
  
Not that his true life had exactly been a picnic, especially considering the way that it ended. With a shudder, Kuririn recalled the last few moments. The were still as fresh in his mind as anything . . .  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
He could not believe it. Something of this magnitude was too good to be true. It had to be. But then, Goku was always pulling off things that were too good to be true. That was just the way things worked with him.  
  
And he had pulled it off again, this time at Frieza's expense.  
  
It was such a relief to just sit down for a while, to relax and to joke around. To congratulate all there on a battle well fought. To watch little Gohan run around and whoop with joy at the thought of returning to Earth. Everything was perfect.  
  
Or so Kuririn wanted to believe. But history had a nasty habit of proving him wrong, and right on cue, it did so once more.  
  
The sight on the rocks above them froze him. Dirtied and scorched to be sure, but very much alive, unfortunately. And even less fortunate was the infuriated look on Frieza's face. He may have been playing around before, but the expression in his eyes spoke that game-playing was now over. He meant business.  
  
This time, Goku's miracle had not worked. It had not worked, and no one had energy remaining to fight.  
  
Kuririn's mind could not fully function at the moment. No thoughts passed though it, only images. One image of Frieza firing a slim ki blast toward Goku, and Piccolo shoving his one time rival out of the way to take it head on. Another image of Gohan kneeling, nerveless, beside his mentor's fallen body.  
  
And suddenly, most horribly, an image of Frieza's finger pointing at him. A sound came to him at that moment – Gohan's voice shouting a warning. But the boy was too late. Some strange force wedged itself into Kuririn's body and lifted him off the ground. Higher and higher he went, much as he tried to resist it. But trying to resist Frieza's power was useless. Useless for him, and it seemed useless even for people like Goku.  
  
But he might still be able to help, right? Goku always came through when it mattered the most, and it mattered now, didn't it?  
  
Kuririn felt the force in his chest expanding – and his chest itself expanding along with it. It was a horrible, rending feeling, like a balloon being blown up too far and on the verge of exploding. And he heard himself shout his best friend's name as he did indeed explode . . .  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
"Hey there, son, snap out of it."  
  
Kuririn jumped at the voice, and at the hand on his shoulder. He turned to face the one who had shaken him out of his memory. It was one of the ones with a body, though he had not needed his eyes to deduce that fact – after all, the guy had touched him with a hand.  
  
The figure was old, looked to maybe be in his eighties, and was not a great deal taller than Kuririn himself. That immediately put him at ease. It was such a calming influence to be around people close to his own height rather than the usual person who towered over him. Maybe that was one of the reasons that he liked kids so much.  
  
But something about this man looked familiar. The small, stocky body, the bushy white eyebrows, moustache and beard . . . the round, kindly face . . .  
  
"Allow me to introduce myself," the old man said. "My name is Son Gohan."  
  
Well, that certainly got Kuririn's attention. And now he realized where he had seen this old man before. It had been many years ago, when he had still been a child. When he had met Uranai Baba for the first time, and the old Son Gohan had been one of her fighters. Almost funny that they would both end up in a place like this . . . but Kuririn paused for a moment.  
  
Actually, there wasn't really anything funny about this at all.  
  
"Son Gohan," Kuririn repeated, for lack of anything intelligent to say at the moment. What could a person say in a situation like this?  
  
"Well yes," said Gohan – Gohan Senior, Kuririn said in his mind, to distance the name from the child he knew. "That is all right, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh, of course," Kuririn laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "Nothing wrong with it at all."  
  
This seemed to appease Gohan Senior, whose quizzical look faded back into a cheery smile. "Glad that's settled, then. You must be new here. Come on and have a sit. An old man needs some company every once in a while."  
  
Still fascinated yet somewhat disturbed to be in the company of his best friend's adoptive – and dead – grandfather, Kuririn accepted. He followed Gohan Senior around several wildly flying wisps to – strangely – a pair of quite comfortable looking blue easy chairs. At least the higher ups provided a little perk to being in a place like this.  
  
The chair was every bit as comfortable as it looked, and he took a moment to sink into the cushiony fabric. In this thing, he could almost forget that he was in fact dead. Of course, a quick glance at his surroundings killed that notion almost instantly. It was hard to forget such a thing while surrounded by yellow clouds and what he assumed were bodiless souls. Not to mention the halo floating over his head.  
  
"Hm."  
  
Kuririn looked up, and found Gohan Senior staring at him quizzically from his own chair. The upper half of the old man's face wrinkled so deeply that it was a chore just to see his eyes. Still, it managed to be unnerving somehow. "What?"  
  
"Haven't we met before?" Gohan Senior asked. "I keep thinking that you look somehow familiar."  
  
"W-well . . ." Kuririn stammered, not quite sure how he should respond. Though he did not know what harm it could do to tell the truth. A little company with some familiarity could only be a good thing, after all. "Yeah, actually we ha –"  
  
But Gohan Senior snapped his fingers before Kuririn could finish the reply. "At the fortune-teller's place, right? You were one of the boys with my grandson."  
  
"Yep, that was me." Kuririn's tone was bright when he answered, but his mood sobered at the old man's next words.  
  
"I knew it! Memory was just a little foggy for the moment. So how was he doing when you saw him last?"  
  
It was a good question, and one that he cursed the man for. How was Goku doing? Kuririn wasn't even sure that he was still alive; hopes for that were looking pretty slim by the time that he was killed. He didn't want to say that, though.  
  
After all, what was there to tell? Somehow, saying something like: "Well I just got blown to bits by some super powerful intergalactic tyrant, and your grandson was looking to be primed for the kill, too" did not seem like a great thing to be mentioning. From what Kuririn remembered, Son Gohan was a good old man, and had loved Goku as if the Saiyajin had been his own. The idea of telling him that his grandson was likely dead . . .  
  
"Well, how was he?" Gohan Senior pressed.  
  
"Uh, well . . ." Kuririn stalled for time. Perhaps he should find a way to just duck out of this conversation. "Well, he was, doing okay, I guess. Look, I've gotta go. See ya later."  
  
With that, and before Gohan Senior could reply, Kuririn jumped out of his char, and flew some distance away – he could still see the various other people and souls, but he hoped that this would be far enough to avoid the old man for a while.  
  
But he was bound to catch up to him sometime. If Kuririn was going to be here for seventy or eighty years, then there would be plenty of time to track him down and ask him again. Of course, there was always the chance that old Son Gohan would not be here much longer anyway. He had to have been here for at least . . .  
  
Hey, come to think of it, what was the old man doing here, anyway? Surely problem cases were not that common, especially with people from a particular planet . . . Never mind. If he had thought of this earlier, he could have asked about it, but the questioning had thrown him off guard and he'd just needed to escape.  
  
Maybe he could use it the next time Gohan Senior caught up with him – deflect a question with another question. If he could just do that for a while, maybe old Son Gohan would not have to find out about his grandson's probable fate.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Time passed in the odd place called the Relegation Room, but Kuririn did not know how to measure it. There was no sun or moon to watch, the sky did not lighten or darken, and there was no common routine that he could see which would signify the passage of a day.  
  
At least he had managed to avoid Gohan Senior for the time being. In addition to that, he had passed his time talking to one of the many white wisps that were indeed bodiless souls. They didn't have much interesting to say, merely commenting on how bright and wonderful the weather was – which made absolutely no sense as there did not seem to be weather, per se, in Otherworld – but it was easier to deal with than the questions that old Son Gohan would be asking him.  
  
He never realized how much he missed his ability to sense ki until it was rendered invalid by being in a place with a bunch of dead people. While he was alive, it had been tough, though not impossible to sneak up on him. Odds were reversed when nobody had any ki. Thus it was that he did not notice that the very person he had been running from was now right behind him.  
  
"Hello again, son."  
  
Kuririn jumped and turned. Well, round one of running was over. Now came the new tactic – the question to a question.  
  
"I've been trying to track you down for a couple of weeks, but I seem to be just missing you," Gohan Senior said, not sounding particularly disturbed by this for whatever reason. "Was there something that you hadn't wanted to tell me back there?"  
  
"Uh, well, it's just . . ." Kuririn was momentarily derailed form his strategy, but regained his composure. "Say, just how did you end up here?"  
  
The question seemed to give Gohan Senior pause, and he looked at Kuririn funnily before reaching up to scratch his head, a puzzled look coming across his face. "Come to think of it, I'm not quite sure. I don't think it was ever explained to me." He stopped scratching his head, and his eyes turned piercing and intelligent once again. "Now my question, please."  
  
Rats. Kuririn was about to take off again when the man caught his shoulder. It would have been an easy hold to break, given Kuririn's high physical strength in comparison to Gohan Senior's, but somehow it just did not seem right. Maybe he should just give the old man his answer. This was only the first repetition of the question, and already Kuririn's conscience was on him for not answering in the first place. Kuririn sighed, relenting. He might as well get this over with. "To tell you the truth, sir, I don't know how he is. I was killed during a battle, and when I left, things really didn't look that great . . ."  
  
"I see." That was all that Gohan Senior could seem to say at the moment. But then he perked up a bit. "Then again, Goku was always good at getting himself out of sticky situations. An amazingly persistent boy he was . . ." He paused again, looking puzzled. "Right?"  
  
That was strange . . . "Well, yeah." Though confused by the statement, Kuririn was also a little bolstered by it. Maybe he didn't have enough faith in Goku. Maybe his old friend could pull something off after all. Maybe everything was fine now . .  
  
Surprisingly, Gohan Senior turned and walked off, muttering something quietly to himself. Kuririn could not hear it very well, but he thought that he could make out, "I'm sure he was a persistent young thing. There must have been several examples of this, if I could just remember . . ."  
  
Kuririn blinked. This place just got weirder and weirder.  
  
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Things were getting past weird, now. They were starting to get scary. With nothing else to do, Kuririn had just been reluctantly socializing with his fellow cast-offs. But the same thing came up constantly and it was troubling.  
  
Every time he talked to someone one day, they had completely forgotten anything that the had related a mere few days before. While this in itself was not quite altogether frightening, it was the fact that they never remembered him at all. Or anything, for that matter. Not a single one of them. They all greeted him anew as if the had never seen him before in the afterlife.  
  
Currently, he was trying to find out the reason for this, from yet another of the white wisps. It was not a lot of help.  
  
"Forgetting things, hm?" the wisp said, in its strangely squeaky voice. "Can't say that I have forgotten anything, or if I did I don't remember. How do you know if you forgot to remember if you were supposed to forget –"  
  
Kuririn massaged his forehead, wondering if the wisp was giving itself as much of a headache as it was giving him. The conversation was going absolutely nowhere. Finally fed up, Kuririn merely got up and left, the wisp still prattling on about how he was supposed to remember if he had forgotten anything. Kuririn should have learned better than to talk to the wisps anyway. They hardly ever made any sense.  
  
So he wandered off alone again, silently wondering if he was the only sane person in this place. Considering that even he had thought that he was crazy while alive, did not exactly strike him as a very good sign.  
  
It was never a good sign when he was the sanest person in the room.  
  
"You look depressed there."  
  
It was an unfamiliar voice, and Kuririn looked up to face it. Above him stood a strange bluish green creature with no apparent ears or nose. Heh. At least the latter was something that they had in common. Did he have anything to lose by talking to this thing? Probably not.  
  
"Nah, just confused," he replied. "I just can't seem to figure this place out."  
  
The new figure sat down beside him. "You like figuring things out too, huh? One of my favourite things to do. At least I think it is."  
  
Kuririn sighed in exasperation. "See? That's what I'm confused about. What is it with this place and chronic bad memories?"  
  
The new figure nodded. "Hmm. That's a good question. Wonder if I ever wondered something like that."  
  
Once again, a conversation that was going nowhere. Big surprise. Kuririn wished that this guy would just prattle on his own now, so that he could quietly sneak off somewhere. But the figure surprised him.  
  
"Do you forget things, too?"  
  
Kuririn blinked. "No. No, I don't."  
  
"Gee that's weird. Are you new? The new ones always seem to remember stuff better." The figure paused. "At least I think."  
  
Being new . . . A though sprang in Kuririn's head, and he wasn't sure that he liked it.  
  
What if it was this place? For all he knew, the others could have been here for a very long time; Gohan Senior must have been here for at least a couple of decades. And Kuririn himself was the only one, it seemed, that was not suffering from a faulty memory . . .  
  
A chill swept through his bones – or it would have if he still had bones. He could be in here for quite some time himself. If his hunch were true, he would begin to forget things as well. His whole life, eventually. It may not have been the happiest of lives, but he didn't exactly want to forget it, either.  
  
"Okay, that's it," Kuririn said. "I've gotta get outta here." 


	3. Breakaway

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER THREE: Breakaway  
  
Yep, it was settled; he was getting out of this place before he forgot who he was. He patted the bluish green guy who sat at his side on the shoulder. "Thanks a lot, pal."  
  
The figure saluted. "Happy to help ya."  
  
Kuririn paced away, a sense of urgency filling his gut. Just how long would it take before his memory started to go? Gohan Senior was apparently even starting to forget Goku, and Kuririn assumed that those would have been powerful memories of the old man's. So it seemed like a good twenty years before he might start losing the important stuff.  
  
Though if he could avoid losing even the unimportant stuff, that sure would be great too.  
  
The only problem was how to get out. The door that the office demon had used to guide him here had vanished completely after its use, leaving to Kuririn to wonder just how he could get it back. But what if the dead couldn't open the door for themselves? What if they would only work for various employees of Otherworld? Too many things unknown, too many things to figure out. He had to get on the move as soon as possible.  
  
Kuririn's life had not been the greatest, but he felt that he deserved to have his Judgement and be able to keep his memories.  
  
As far as he figured, one way was as good as any other. He gathered himself to fly . . . But then he stopped himself, feeling a pang of guilt swell inside him.  
  
He couldn't just leave Gohan Senior here. The old man was starting to lose the memories that Kuririn was sure he held the most dear. It didn't seem right to let someone suffer like that, especially not someone in Goku's family. Goku had given so much to him . . . So how could he not help out his family when he actually got a chance? He remembered Goku's reaction when he had finally discovered that Uranai Baba's fifth fighter was his grandfather; the little Saiyajin had run up to the man, crying, and hugged him. Goku was not a touchy person, and seeing him cry was the ultimate rarity.  
  
So one way was not as good as another, after all. At least not yet. He had to find Gohan Senior first, and bring him back, too. It was only right.  
  
Finding the old man should not have been very difficult, but it turned out to be. Even though Gohan Senior was one of the few souls around here with a body, he seemed to hide himself very well. Once again, Kuririn missed his ki-sensing abilities. He had never realized how difficult it was to track people down without being able to rely on it.  
  
But he found him at last, perched on top of a single yellow cloud that extended oddly from one of the many surface clouds; for a second, it almost reminded him of knto'un. The old man was looking in the direction opposite to Kuririn's, and did not seem to notice his approach. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Kuririn spoke, "Hey, Gohan."  
  
Gohan Senior gave a yelp and tumbled off the cloud, and Kuririn sighed at himself. So much for not startling him.  
  
With wounded dignity, Gohan Senior climbed to his feet, brushing cloud dust off of his clothing. "Don't scare me like that, son! If I weren't dead already, I probably would have had a heart attack!"  
  
Kuririn had the good grace to lower his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya like that, but I need to talk to you about something."  
  
Gohan Senior readjusted his tight fitting hat. "Do you? This from the lad who was running away a few days ago in an effort to avoid talking to me."  
  
Kuririn checked a sigh. He had no more time for apologies; explanations took precedence. "You know what this place does to you?"  
  
Gohan Senior looked at him for a second, puzzled. His brow wrinkled in confusion as thoughts cycled through this head. "You mean about the whole forgetting things thing? Yes, I know about it."  
  
"Uh . . ." Kuririn blinked. Despite his earlier words, he was surprised that he actually knew the answer. "Just when did you . . ."  
  
"Oh, a while ago, I suppose." Gohan Senior's voice sounded resigned. "I think most here do figure it out eventually, but then they forget that they did. Kind of ironic when you think about it."  
  
Actually, that was pretty ironic, Kuririn reflected, wondering if just perhaps they were in the Ironic Punishment division of the afterlife and nobody had bothered to tell them. Kuririn shook his head; he was mixing himself up too much.  
  
"Well, don't you want to do anything about it?" he asked. "I know I would rather remember my life."  
  
Gohan Senior shrugged, turning his glance to the side. "Maybe it never occurred to anyone to leave. I can't say for sure. I don't know too many people around here all that well." He then turned back to Kuririn, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "I suppose that it has occurred to you, then."  
  
"Well of course it has. Who would want to stay here? Come on, let's go."  
  
Gohan Senior shook his head, looking sad. "I don't know, son. I've lost an awful lot as it is. It's probably not even really worth it anymore."  
  
Kuririn could not believe what he was hearing. In life, this man had been a legendary martial artist, and one did not gain a distinction like that by giving in to things easily. Gohan Senior could not have always been like this; it had to have been the room that had done it to him somehow, taken away his will to fight. But he had to help him get it back.  
  
"What do you mean you don't think that it would be worth it? Do you really want to forget Goku?"  
  
The old man blinked, titled his head. "Who?"  
  
That settled it; the old man was coming with him whether he wanted to or not. With a speed that could not be seen by average human eyes – not even eyes that had belonged to a once legendary martial artist – Kuririn took Gohan Senior's back and chopped him lightly at the base of the skull; quietly, he hoped that people could still be knocked unconscious in the afterlife.  
  
Much to his relief, it was possible. The old man's stocky frame sagged forward, and Kuririn caught it easily in his arms. Not so easy was hoisting it over his shoulder; the weight didn't bother him, but Gohan Senior was a few inches taller than he was, so carrying him was awkward.  
  
"Okay," he stated to nobody in particular. "Phase one is down. Now it's time to blow this joint."  
  
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He could not remember the last time that he had dreamed, for the dead did not dream. Or maybe they did, but it was only rarely. Only being dead for twenty-odd years – minus a brief resurrection in that time – he had never really gotten the hang of being dead. So maybe dreams were possible. In fact, he was sure of it. Since he was sure that he was dreaming right now.  
  
He barely recognized the place – a small dwelling in the forest, sloped roof, symbols painted in red by the door. It was nestled in a little clearing in the woods, near the base of a great, if not entirely impressive mountain. But the mountain was not really that important.  
  
In the field on the outside of the house, a little boy stood. A little boy with hair that looked as though some random animal had decided to make its home on his head, bright black eyes, a cheery smile . . . and a tail.  
  
Seeing the tail triggered an alarm within him somewhere, though he was not sure why.  
  
The little boy was happily playing in the yard, performing some rather advanced-looking martial arts techniques – before he could stop it, he felt a sensation of pride welling through him at the boy's actions. But the boy did not use his hands much, despite the intricate routines that he was performing. For a moment, this was mysterious, but then the reason was revealed.  
  
The boy sat down, wiping sweat off his brow – or imaginary sweat, for it did not seem that the boy had tired in any way – and sat down with his legs folded over each other. And then he opened his hand, revealing a small orange sphere, almost too large to fit in his palm. And in this sphere, four red stars floated, not seeming to be anchored anywhere inside the ball, nor painted on the surface as some sort of decoration. The boy smiled at this ball – a wider grin he had never seen – and playfully tossed it up in the air, repeatedly catching it. It seemed to be the most fascinating object in all the world to him.  
  
"You have to be careful with that, Goku." He heard a voice, and was almost startled to realize that it was his own. Almost. But it made sense in the context of the dream.  
  
The boy looked at him plaintively. "Aw, Grampa," he whined. "I'm not gonna break it. I was jus' playin' with it."  
  
He walked toward the boy, hand held out. "Goku you know that this is not a toy. If you can't hold onto it without throwing it around all the time, then I'm not going to let you have it."  
  
"No, Grampa, I'll be good," the boy – Goku, an oddly familiar name – scooted back, clutching the little orange ball as if it were the most important thing in his life. "I won't throw it around no more. I promise. Jus' lemme keep it, please?"  
  
It was difficult to resist a look like that: lower lip pursed, eyebrows drawn upward and together. Despite the odd hairdo, the boy was almost heinously cute. A look like that would have melted a rock.  
  
But he was a little tougher than a rock. "Give me the ball, Goku. If you're good and do all your chores for the next week, I'll let you have it again."  
  
Goku looked like he was about to pout, but he handed over the ball anyway. "Okay, Grampa. I'll be good; you'll see."  
  
A brief flicker of motion caught his corner of vision, and he glanced up in its direction. Goku seemed to have noticed this, too.  
  
"Wow!" the boy chirped. "Grampa, what was that? I gotta go see!" All traces of sadness gone, Goku charged across the clearing and shinnied up the tree like a monkey. He leapt from branch to branch, and the boy's giggling was audible long after he passed out of sight . . .  
  
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Kuririn breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Gohan Senior stir on his back; carrying the man had been getting pretty tiring. He stopped in mid flight, landing on a cloud, and laid the old man down in front of him.  
  
Gohan Senior put a hand to his forehead then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked around dazedly before his gaze landed on Kuririn. "I take it that we're not in the Relegation Room, anymore," he said simply.  
  
"Darned if I knew," Kuririn muttered, half to himself. This whole place looked the same to him, so whether they had gotten out of it or not was really open for debate. Or it would have been open for debate if there were anyone around with the ability to argue either point. "Your guess would be as good as mine."  
  
It was as unpromising a day as any that he'd had in life, Kuririn reflected. No clear direction, no way of knowing whether success or failure was the reward for one's actions. He'd had quite a few failures in his life, and precious few successes.  
  
Here was hoping for one of the latter. Just for a change of general pace, of course.  
  
"You know, I do recall saying that I did not want to come here," Gohan Senior said irritably, drawing Kuririn's attention once more. "Do you always treat your elders with such disrespect?"  
  
"Look . . . It's just important for you to get outta there, okay. I'm just trying to help."  
  
Gohan Senior sighed. "Well, it isn't as if I have much of a choice right now, is it? I suppose that I will have to accompany you for the rest of your journey."  
  
Kuririn held back a sigh of relief. He had been half afraid that he would have to spend all of his time merely arguing with this man, or failing that, having to knock him out repeatedly and carry him around all the time. This was much easier.  
  
"So," Gohan Senior began. "Which way now?" 


	4. On the Lam

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: On the Lam  
  
Dainin looked around, his expression filled with annoyance. Now where was that door to the blasted Relegation Room? He could never find that place, despite over seven hundred years of working for the Afterlife Administrations Bureau. Silently, he cursed Yamai for getting sick; it was the other demon's job to do this round, not his.  
  
Sometimes, he got the feeling that Yamai did it just to mess with his nerves. That, or he was just trying to get out of a terrible job.  
  
Ah. There it was. Right ahead of him, a giant red door that seemed to mock his previous inability to find it. He could almost hear the stupid thing shouting at him: "Hey, I'm over here you little blue idiot!" Yes, indeed, he would get Yamai for this.  
  
Pulling open the door, he was greeted with the average Otherworld sight of yellow clouds and the zooming white wisps that were people's souls. He wished that he could go back to his old job; the scenery was much more interesting down there.  
  
"All halt!" Dainin called, voice echoing clear and loud over the clouded expanse. Instantly reacting to the order, movement stopped. Or it did save for two wisps that ignored his presence entirely and continued to giggle and hop over each other. Dainin cleared his throat, and tried again. "I said, all halt!"  
  
The two previously disobedient wisps stopped immediately, standing straight at attention, yet looking despondent. Or as despondent as they could without faces.  
  
"Nothing to worry about, folks, just the routine rounds here. So if you'll all just co-operate . . ."  
  
There was muttered confusion among the wisps, and the few souls here that still possessed bodies. With a sigh of exasperation, Dainin took off his horn-rimmed glasses, and rubbed between his eyes where he could feel a headache forming. This was why he hated this place so much. The residents always forgot him. Or at least most of them did. It wasn't really their fault, considering that the room erased their memories, but it was hard not to be annoyed by this. Yes indeed, how he missed his old job.  
  
Putting his glasses back on, Dainin began once more. "Look, as I said, this is just part of routine rounds; if you all co-operate, things will go by very quickly. Now hold still, the lot of you."  
  
Well, at least the souls here were only forgetful and not stupid. All stood perfectly still in a straight line, waiting for his assessment. Dainin took out his pocket computer, and waved it at the first in line. The computer gave the person's name, age, species, time and manner of death, and the reason that they were sent into relegation. And so on down the line, one after another, a skull-numbing, mindless, idiotic job.  
  
Hours. That was how long it took. So many souls ended up in here, whether through computer error or confusion over multiple deaths for one soul. Dainin had a feeling that Lord Enma and the rest of the higher-ups were not as efficient as they demanded their lessers to be. Bunch of hypocrites. If he weren't so spineless, he would have half a mind to stand on Lord Enma's nose and tell the giant red demon to his face.  
  
But that was generally an ill advised thing to do. They never had found the last guy who had done that.  
  
"Okay, before I leave, I've got some good news," he said, keeping his tone official. "One of you gets out of relegation today." He punched up the file on his portable computer, and read off the name. "So if any of you remembers being named Son Gohan, this is your lucky day."  
  
Just as hours before, there was muttered confusion. Both bodies and wisps alike talked and argued amongst themselves, some of them no doubt thinking that they were the party in question. But none of them stepped forward to verify.  
  
"Come on, folks, I would like to get out of here sometime today."  
  
Still no one came, and Dainin began to have doubts that anyone ever would. Muttering about how these forgetful shells couldn't do one simple thing for him, he typed the name Son Gohan into his portable computer to see where he had scanned in.  
  
To his surprise, the answer came to him in bold red letters.  
  
"Absent?" he said, reading the word off the screen. "Just great; must have a runaway." He glanced up at one of the bodies and pointed his finger at it. "You. Do you have any idea where this Son Gohan may have gone?"  
  
The figure, a bluish green that offset Dainin's own skin tone, titled his head. "Son Gohan? Son Gohan . . ." the figure paused. "He had a body right? I can't remember."  
  
Dainin glanced down at his computer screen. "Yes, yes, he had a body. Now where did he go?"  
  
The bluish figure scratched his head. "Gee, I dunno. Last time I remember seeing him – I think it might have been him, anyway – he was with that strange little bald fellow."  
  
Dainin longed to take off his glasses again and rub at his increasingly painful headache. "A vague description doesn't really help. Does this 'strange little bald fellow' have a name?"  
  
"Well of course he has a name."  
  
"Well," Dainin demanded, patience wearing thin. "What is it?"  
  
The figure shrugged. "I dunno. But doesn't everyone have a name?"  
  
Dainin barley kept himself from falling over in exasperation. But he managed to keep his dignity and his feet. "Yes, but . . You just . . ." he tried, but then threw his arms up in the air. "Augh! Never mind, never mind; I'll do it myself."  
  
The process itself was pretty simple, just cross-referencing all Relegation Room inhabitants with a body, and imputing a partial physical description . . . Several matches came up, but Dainin knew that he had found the one that he was looking for. Beside the name Kuririn Chestnut, there was a set of bright red letters that spelled "Absent". Looking at the date of death, Dainin found that this guy was probably the newest member of the amnesia farm. Only three weeks had passed since he had been put in here. New one was causing trouble. It usually was the newer souls that did that, unable to accept their fate. Those impulsive children should take a lesson from their predecessors and just go with the flow. Made things easier for everyone.  
  
Dainin reached down and grabbed the walkie talkie that hung from his belt. He brought it up to his face and spoke, "Administration? Administration, this is Dainin, doing Yamai's rounds of the Relegation Room" – he could not keep the venom out of his voice upon mentioning Yamai's name – "And it seems that we've got a couple of runaways on our hands. One Son Gohan, who had been scheduled for his hearing today, and one Kuririn Chestnut, newly arrived."  
  
Dainin paused for a few moments as administration took in this information. When finished, they asked for instructions to remedy this matter.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" asked Dainin. Why did these people outrank him when he had to do all of the thinking? "Send out Kyojin."  
  
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"I see that you haven't gotten through yet."  
  
For the briefest of seconds, Kuririn was beginning to regret bringing Gohan Senior along with him on his escape attempt. The old man had been a little less than encouraging, though Kuririn supposed that he could understand that much. Gohan Senior had not wanted to be here from the start. Still, he could have been a little more helpful.  
  
"I'll get it. Won't take much longer."  
  
The thing in question was a door. An ugly, yellow-green door that would have towered over just about anyone and was thus appropriately massive for the two standing before it. Space was visible all around the door, as if it had just been hung in the air and did not actually lead anywhere. But like so many things in Otherworld, looks were often deceiving and indeed often defied all logic. Conventional logic, anyway. Kuririn assumed that it became the normal standard for anyone who stayed here long enough. It was amazing the things a person could get used to.  
  
For example, he had gotten used to flying, firing ki blasts, that a single creature could destroy a planet in one strike . . . Yep, he had gotten used to a lot, and he would eventually get used to Otherworld logic. But not until he had had a proper Judgement. He would not go through his afterlife a body with no memory.  
  
"Just another minute, yes?" Gohan Senior countered. "You said that about ten minutes ago."  
  
Well, that was true. But that didn't mean that Kuririn liked to be reminded of that fact. When they had first come upon the door, Kuririn had felt some sensation similar to relief flow through him; here, at last, after seemingly endless flight was a way out of the Relegation Room. Only the door had not opened for either of them when they had turned the gigantic knob. Thus the next logical choice had been to break it down. Over and over, Kuririn had tried – he'd told Gohan Senior to stand back – but he still had not managed it, even with all of his strength.  
  
In a way, it reminded him of several incidences in his life. Incidences where he had tried his utmost only to fail miserably in the end.  
  
"Look, I'll get it this time," Kuririn assured, an idea forming in his head. He motioned with one hand. "Stand back. Further; I really mean it."  
  
He glanced back to make sure that his companion had listened to him, and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that he indeed had. Retuning his gaze to the door, Kuririn braced himself against the ground, hands cupped at his side.  
  
Here went nothing.  
  
"Ka . . .me . . ha . . ." he spoke the word softly, trying to focus his energy. Attempting to form a ki attack when one was no longer in possession of any discernable ki was quite the chore. But, with difficulty, he managed it, a blue-white ball forming between his curled palms. "Me . . . ha!"  
  
Kuririn pushed his hands forward, bringing the ball of blue-white ki with it. The ball shot forth in a brilliant torrent of light, striking the door. Right on contact, the door blew apart, splinters forming, but not travelling far before being vaporized by the outskirts of the blast.  
  
When the dust finally cleared, a hole through space itself was revealed. A strange swelling of orange against a blue sky. Not an inviting colour for the sky to be, but considering that it had to mean that he and Gohan Senior were on their way out of the Relegation Room, Kuririn took it as a good sign. The Kamehameha Wave had saved his life more than once, and here it may have yet saved his soul.  
  
He glanced back at Gohan Senior, who was just lowering his arm away from his face. "See? Just another minute. Let's go."  
  
Gohan Senior nodded, moving to follow him. A bemused expression came upon the old man's face. And with it came a curiosity, which likely prompted him to say what he said next. "That was quite a move. What exactly was that?"  
  
Kuririn shrugged, though he could not help but feel a little proud of himself. It was not often that his power impressed people. "Just a ki manipulation. Called the Kamehameha Wave. Not that hard to do once you get the knack of it."  
  
"Yes . . ." Gohan Senior began, sounding thoughtful. "Once you have the knack of it."  
  
Kuririn was surprised at this tone for a moment, but did not dwell upon it for long, as the scenery about them abruptly changed to something a great deal more interesting. "Would you look at that? I guess we're out of relegation."  
  
And indeed it must have been true. The sky had taken on a reddish orange hue, like the sky at sunset, though there was no sun. A plain of lush green grass stretched out before them, the occasional hill popping up. And in the distance, he could make out some kind of tall, thin structure, but he could not discern what it was from here. Still, it was a welcome sight considering the featureless area that had been the Relegation Room.  
  
Gohan Senior nodded. "Yes, I would think that we are. Nicer scenery, I must say."  
  
The old man sounded a fair bit more co-operative now, if not exactly enthusiastic. Which was a relief in itself, though perhaps they could work on the latter. Who knew what weirdness they were likely to encounter next? Having a bit of help at his disposal hardly sounded like a bad thing.  
  
And perhaps the way to bring some enthusiasm out was for Kuririn to jog Gohan Senior's memory a bit. After all, if the old man knew what he was missing . . .  
  
"So," Kuririn began lightly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder at his companion. "Care to learn anything about your grandson?"  
  
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The printer buzzed in its usual annoying manner as a document came through it. A giant red hand pulled out the one-page report, sent from Administration itself. With a quick read, the red demon sighed, and called over to his companion, "Hey, Goz! We've got a memo from Administration. Get in here so I don't have to yell it out to your thick head over there!"  
  
With another sigh, the red demon went over the memo again. Goz was such a pain to work with, always taking a few too many liberties with the souls down here in Hell. Not that he himself was opposed to having a little fun, but Goz went above and beyond in this regard. Honestly, why he hadn't reported the demon was a mystery. Perhaps, in some sick way, he enjoyed the punishment that was working with him.  
  
The floor shook under his feet, prompting him to lift his gaze. Sure enough, standing before him, was the hulking blue form of Goz, sweat slightly staining his tee shirt. Likely, he had just been involved in one of his games. And to see his face, it did not appear that he appreciated the interruption.  
  
"What is it, Mez?" the blue demon asked irritably. "I want to get back out there, so this memo better be important."  
  
Mez nodded. "Well, of course it's important! Why would I have called you in here if it wasn't important?"  
  
"To ruin my fun."  
  
"Grgh . . " Mez growled. Patience, he reminded himself. He needed patience with his muscle-bound, thick-headed partner. Finally, he was able to continue. "Well this one really is. There was a breakout from the Relegation Room. Nobody knows how long ago it happened, but all Otherworld divisions are to be on the lookout for the two escapees." He handed the memo over to Goz. "Got their descriptions right here."  
  
Goz took a moment to read the paper. "You called me in here for this? Aw, well. Maybe I can have a little fun with these guys if they end up here."  
  
Mez rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well at least wait until they go through Judgement for that. Wherever these two may have been going before, they're likely to end up here now, after the stunt that they're pulling." 


	5. The Otherworld Challenge

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER FIVE: The Otherworld Challenge  
  
It was an amusement park. An honest to goodness amusement park, complete with roller coasters, merry-go-rounds and concession stands. And they ran constantly, manned and ridden by bodiless souls, all of whom seemed to be having a fairly good time.  
  
"He would have liked something like this, I'm sure," Gohan Senior said almost wistfully, staring up at one of the many roller coasters. "Though the sight of them might have frightened him at first."  
  
Kuririn nodded briefly. Ever since they had escaped the Relegation Room, the old man's memory seemed to be improving. Take, for example, what he had just said. It sounded like a very accurate description of young Goku, who would have been frightened by the foreignness of such technology, but would have fallen in love with it once he had given it a try. Yep, that was Goku all right.  
  
"Yeah, sounds like him to me," Kuririn agreed, trying to reinforce the memory. Perhaps this could help bring a little of it back. He didn't know whether or not Gohan Senior might have regained some of his memories without any help, but that was a risk that he was not willing to take. After all, he wasn't going to go to all the trouble of rescuing Goku's grandfather only to have it not really count at the end due to a lack of memory. That would be too much of a disrespect of his old friend. And if there was one thing that Kuririn could pride himself on, it was that he always tried to be a good friend. He liked to think that he succeeded most of the time on that one.  
  
"These roller coasters, especially. He would have adored them."  
  
It was such a calming moment here that Kuririn almost wished himself that they could stop for a ride. But there was no time to waste for that. Maybe he would end up here after he got his Judgement. Seemed like a nice place overall.  
  
"But we're wasting time here, yes?" Gohan Senior asked. "I believe that it would be best for us to be on our way."  
  
Kuririn nodded, and the two set off again. As they travelled, though, Kuririn began to feel a little uneasy. A strange pit seemed to form inside his stomach, constantly repeating the words, "Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong . . ."  
  
And it took a moment, but Kuririn realized what this was: the wisps were looking at them funny. How they could possibly look at someone funny, considering that they had no eyes, Kuririn did not know, but it was unmistakable. Something about the way the wisps stood there, their attention clearly focused upon them was unnerving him in the worst of ways. He tried to tell himself that he was just being silly, that the looks did not mean anything whatsoever.  
  
But as usual, when he was trying to tell himself to relax, he ignored the speaker.  
  
He tensed his legs, his shoulders, preparing for something evil to befall them in the next minute or so. And he had presence of mind enough to warn his companion about the surely approaching danger. "Keep your guard up, Gohan. I think something bad is about to go down."  
  
Kuririn spared a backward glance, and saw that Gohan Senior had taken the advice to heart; there was a firmer set to his face and to his shoulders, and his steps became more careful, more deliberate. This was the posture of a fighter: alert, ready to strike at anything on a moment's notice. This was the Son Gohan Senior that he would have expected to see in the afterlife.  
  
"Do you know what kind of trouble is approaching?" Gohan Senior asked, keeping his voice low. "I just want to be prepared."  
  
Kuririn shook his head. "I'm not sure. I just know that it's coming. Keep an eye out. You may catch it before I do."  
  
Silence came again, and though Kuririn knew that it was a good thing, it still made him a little nervous. Ghastly silence before some bad thing of epic proportions occurring was as common to his life as a haircut was to others. He had just become so accustomed to it that he almost felt resigned. He fought against that feeling, though. That feeling made a person slower on the uptake.  
  
And so the two continued on, taking silent steps, eyes warily scanning the surrounding landscape for any sign of trouble.  
  
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Called to duty, a creature lumbered out of his cave. He was a large creature by almost any standards, even bigger than Lord Enma himself. And Enma was the standard for being big in Otherworld. But size was not always the best indicator of strength, hence one of the reasons that the giant had been trapped in this cave.  
  
He had been out of control once, just running amok wherever he went around here. Until the day he ran into the Grand Kai. The battle had been short. The creature had landed no blows, its opponent having the speed advantage, while the Grand Kai had landed only three. But they had been enough. Enough to humiliate him and have him imprisoned in that horrible, cramped little cave, only to be let out when the order was given.  
  
Of course, that was not really so bad; the space was cramped, but the times outside made up for that rather nicely. No longer did he have to run amok, with no direction. Nope, no more of that for him. Now he had a job. He was now one of Otherworld's enforcers. Basically, he got to smash creatures and souls that stepped out of line. It was pretty nice work.  
  
"Uh . . . uh . . . Kyojin?" called the nervous little beast that stood at his feet. Though he was so far down below Kyojin's line of sight, the tall creature could detect the sweat running off the office demon's forehead.  
  
"I get to smash something, right?" Kyojin asked, his voice rumbling the ground just as much as his feet did.  
  
The little office demon trembled at this, and Kyojin smiled at its obvious fear. "No, actually. N-no, you don't."  
  
Kyojin frowned. What were they doing letting him out of his cave if he could not smash anything? Stupid office demons, toying with his feelings like that.  
  
The little demon readjusted his tie in a clear display of nervousness. "I- I mean, you don't get to smash anything, yet. First, you've just got to bring the two subjects back up to Judgement. Then maybe Lord Enma will let you smash them."  
  
Kyojin considered this. It still sounded like he would get cheated out of his deal. He didn't like having to wait around for Enma's say-so. "You see to it that I do," he intoned at last. "Not smashing things is not good for my temper."  
  
"Um . . .Yes. I . . I will do my best, oh mighty Kyojin." He straightened his tie one more time. "Now here are their descriptions. You will have to go searching for them . . ."  
  
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Kuririn was wondering whether or not that voice telling him that there was nothing to worry about was right after all.  
  
He did not know how much time had passed, but it was a great deal any way it was considered. They had spent hours at least ducking behind rides and game booths like wanted criminals, fearing some sort of divine retribution. But none came. And despite the feeling in Kuririn's gut, none seemed to be on its way any time soon.  
  
He and Gohan Senior had long since passed the amusement park, and had seen various other curiosities along the way, like a race track, and a camp ground. None of these were as heavily populated as the amusement park had been, but there were always a few wisps present. And all of them continued to give their funny, faceless stare. It had set Kuririn's nerves on edge before, but now it was just getting irritating. At least now they were on the open fields, where the wisp population was quite sparse. And in fact, neither he nor Gohan Senior had yet spied any soul with a body in this place. Kuririn did not know how common or uncommon a thing it was for a soul to keep its body after death, but he had expected to see at least a few.  
  
It made him wonder for a moment what the criteria were for keeping one's body in the afterlife. Probably something major, which was why Goku had been allowed to keep his; he had always been doing amazing things. Kuririn knew that his old friend had to have had his body; he imagined that it would have been difficult to be trained by Kaiou-sama if he hadn't. But the fact that Kuririn himself had retained his body made him cast some doubt about the "something really major" theory. He hadn't done that much, in his opinion.  
  
"I think we can stop skulking about like this, son," Gohan Senior piped up. "I don't know about you, but all this crouching is starting to put too much of a strain on my legs."  
  
"Well," Kuririn thought for a moment. His mind was still not yet out of its "we're out of danger" mode. Which in all likelihood meant that they actually were out of danger. "Yeah. I guess there's nothing here to worry about."  
  
To tell the truth, Kuririn was relieved to be walking normally again, perhaps even more so than his companion. He was short enough as it was, and the last thing he needed was the risk of spending the rest of eternity hunched over like some four-legged animal. It was not a pretty picture.  
  
They crested a hill, a higher one than most of the ones they had crossed, and stopped for a moment. Kuririn took this opportunity to stretch his back muscles. Kami but it felt good to stand up again.  
  
"Hey you, get back in line!"  
  
The guttural voice cracked forth with such authority that Kuririn stood at attention without thinking. Casting his glance to the side, he noticed that Gohan Senior was looking at him with an expression that clearly indicated that the old man thought that Kuririn had lost his mind. Blushing, Kuririn relaxed his posture and looked ahead once more. "Heh, heh. Sorry. Reflex."  
  
He could see who must have been the voice's owner several yards down below. A hulking, blue, orgrish figure. This figure seemed to be shouting at a line of wisps, some of which appeared to be cowering in his presence. One look at the brute, and Kuririn decided that it was probably best to avoid him at all costs. It wasn't that he didn't have confidence in any of his abilities, but who knew what kind of weird powers a native of Otherworld might possess? It wasn't a risk worth taking. Silently, he tugged on Gohan Senior's sleeve, and motioned for them to get away.  
  
Unfortunately, he was not fast enough.  
  
"Hey, you on the hill!" the voice came again, and there was no mistaking the fact that it was now directed at them. The wisest thing to do would probably be to run. But again the authority of the voice froze Kuririn. The monstrous figure stepped up the hill to meet them. "What do you – hey! I know you two!"  
  
"Uh . . . Heh, heh. No, I think I've just got one of those faces. We've never met, I assure you!" Kuririn said nervously, rubbing at the back of his head.  
  
"Never said we met, shrimpy. Just that you look familiar," the blue demon countered smartly, then turned to call out over his shoulder, "Hey Mez! I think this's them two runaways we got word about!"  
  
Runaways? What did they do a bed check here in Otherworld? Nothing of the sort had happened so far in Kuririn's tenure. Of course, his tenure had not been very long. And things were so businesslike around here that headcounts probably were a pretty routine thing.  
  
Kuririn swallowed. Perhaps they were wanted criminals after all.  
  
Before he could fully process this information, a red demon, dressed much the same as the first came into view and stood beside the blue one. The red demon was smaller, but still quite large overall, and wore a pair of horn-rimmed glassed on his face. Those glasses gave him an oddly scholarly look.  
  
"Hmm," said the red demon, Mez. "You know, Goz, I think that you're actually right for a change. What are the odds?" Mez's manner sobered up a little, and he stood straighter, probably hoping for him and Gohan Senior to be intimidated by his height. It was not entirely effective. "Okay, boys, we can do this easily and just co-operate, or we can do it the hard way. That's how things work down here in Hell."  
  
Hell? Well, that was just great. If ever there were a place quite possibly worse than the Relegation Room . . . And the whole irony of it was that on the surface this didn't seem like such a bad place to be. Must have been that afterlife sense of humour rearing its head once again.  
  
"Uh . . ." Kuririn began, reaching for something to say. He really didn't want to get into a fight with such an unknown quantity. While the demons, Goz and Mez, were alive and he could thus sense their ki, he did not know how much he could trust his senses. They could be masking their power or have all kinds of other crazy abilities that did not require ki. "Look, couldn't you guys just let us off?" Kuririn felt stupid the moment he said this. Could anything more lame have come out of his mouth?  
  
"Let you off?" Mez said, chuckles bursting forth from his lips. "That's the funniest thing that we've heard all day! You think we'd risk our jobs over a couple of nothings like you?"  
  
Goz had joined in with his partner's laughter. "You two are some comedians, huh? But I guess you not coming peacefully means that I get a chance to play with ya."  
  
Kuririn's eyes darted between the two demons, thinking of a way to get out of this without running away. Doing that would have been fine before they had been confronted, but to do it now would be to behave more cowardly than he would like to think himself to be. He watched, sweat pouring down his face as Goz put his hands together and cracked his huge knuckles . . .  
  
"If I might interject for a moment," Gohan Senior said, surprising Kuririn; he'd almost forgotten that the old man was there. Both demons actually paused to listen. "But perhaps we could work out a compromise? A simple challenge. If Kuririn and I win, you let us off free. If the two of you win, we will go peacefully."  
  
It was not a plan that Kuririn really favoured, but the two demons exchanged glances and leaned in to discuss the matter further. Harsh whispers rebounded back and forth, Goz sounding more angry and Mez sounding more annoyed. The discussion continued below hearing volume for another minute before both demons turned to look at them once more. And Goz had a smile on his huge blue face.  
  
"Challenge accepted, old man," Goz agreed, rubbing his hands together in glee. "It'll be the most fun us two have had in a few years. And I get to go first, with little shrimpy over there."  
  
Kuririn was about to interject, but never got the chance. Mez beat him to it.  
  
"Hey, I wanted shrimpy!" he argued. "I don't want to be stuck with the old man! And besides, you got to go first with the last guy!"  
  
"Oh yeah?" Goz turned a furious glare on Mez, who returned it with equal fervour. "Well, looks like we've got something to settle first."  
  
Kuririn edged backward a bit, noticing that Gohan Senior stood his ground. This looked like it was going to get ugly, that these two demons were going to duke it out to see who got to have a crack at who . . .  
  
"Ready? One . . . two . . . three!"  
  
At the sight of their actions, Kuririn fell over in shock. Good grief, not this again! Rock, paper, scissors. Flashbacks of the Ginyu Force ran through his mind at this. What was it with all of these crazy people he was meeting up with lately?  
  
For his part, Gohan Senior looked just as bewildered as Kuririn did at this turn of events. Goz and Mez continued the game, matching several times before one of them came up as a winner.  
  
"Ha! Rock breaks scissors!" Mez crowed triumphantly, smashing Goz's extended fingers with his fist. "I win, so you get the leftovers."  
  
"Humph!" Goz returned. "Yeah, well that was just luck. I'll let it go, though. Being that I'm so generous and all."  
  
Mez rolled his eyes, then turned back to Kuririn and Gohan Senior. "Okay, now that that's settled we can get down to business. Move it along shrimps!"  
  
Mez made a motion with his hand that bade them to follow as the two demons walked off, Goz grumbling something else about luck. Nerves jumbling around in his gut, Kuririn stepped up beside Gohan Senior.  
  
"Just answer me one question . . ." Kuririn began. Gohan Senior looked at him. "Do you really know what you're doing?"  
  
Gohan Senior nodded. "Well, of course I do son. I used to be pretty good at this type of thing." He paused for a second, tilting his head and frowning. "I think."  
  
Kuririn merely put his head in his hands. "Perfect."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Once more, the insanity of the universe that Kuririn thought surely had bounds proved to have none whatsoever. Here he was, standing beside an oversized red demon, behind a while line on a dirt road. But not just any white line. No, not any one indeed. This one happened to be a starting line. And a starting line for what? Well, for the race, of course. The race to which Mez had challenged him.  
  
Again, Kuririn got that uneasy feeling of being the sanest person around.  
  
Still, unnerved or not, he lowered himself to a crouch at Mez's side, perfectly ready and willing to just get this whole nutty event over with.  
  
Where the demons had concocted them from, Kuririn did not know, but stands were set up on either side of the road, and were filled with wisps. A sold- out crowd, cheering as much as they could with squeaky voices that could truly not make a cheering sound. Some even wore baseball caps of various colours, though mostly red. Others carried about little triangular flags, some with the words "Go Mez!" printed on them. For just a moment, Kuririn was reminded of a Tenkaichi Budoukai crowd. They were certainly at least as insane as that.  
  
"You ready, runt?" Kuririn looked up as Mez glared down at him condescendingly. It was a look that Kuririn had long-since gotten himself used to but still did not like nonetheless. The look told him that he was worthless, that he should just run home and never ever try to mess with the big boys. He used to let that look get to him, but it pretty much just rolled of him now. Nobody whose opinion he valued ever looked at him that way.  
  
In return, Kuririn gave him a smug smirk. He would show this guy a thing or two. "Any time you are pal. Let's get this show on the road." 


	6. Gohan Senior Versus Goz

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER SIX: Gohan Senior Versus Goz  
  
"Runners prepare yourselves!" Goz raised a starting pistol into the air. "On your mark . . . Get set . . . Go!"  
  
The pistol went off and so did Mez, like the shot itself. But Kuririn merely stood at the starting line for a moment. He was a little stunned at the speed of the demon – that it was so slow. Unable to stifle it, Kuririn let a chuckle escape from his lips.  
  
"What are you doing, son?" Gohan Senior shouted at him. "Get moving or we're going to lose this thing!"  
  
"Huh?" Kuririn looked up. Oh, right. The race. Cheerfully, he cave his companion a salute. "No problem. Everything is under control."  
  
And with that, he was off, quicker than a shot, tearing down the road after his competitor. After only a few seconds, he caught sight of Mez, hurrying along at what was a slow pace to Kuririn. With a sort of half wicked smile, Kuririn pulled up next to him and waved happily.  
  
"Ack!" Mez exclaimed, looking over for a second. "How did you get up here? I left you in the dust!"  
  
Kuririn's only answer was a chuckle, and Mez began to pump his legs faster, putting extra distance between them. Casually, Kuririn increased his own velocity. He normally didn't get such a kick out of freaking people out, but the fact that he actually could for a change was empowering and almost intoxicating.  
  
Mez screamed again as he once more pulled astride him. "How do you keep doing this?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing really," Kuririn said smugly. "Just a casual little pace, is all."  
  
This elicited a growl from the demon. "Well . . . Well . . . I'm still going to win this, shrimpy! You haven't outrun me yet!" Though the words were bold, they were spoken in a nervous, trembling voice.  
  
The course was circuitous, and who knew how long, but after a few moments Kuririn could see the starting line rearing up in front of them. Just to mess with the demon's mind, Kuririn had stayed astride him for the entire race. He could have easily blown past him and had it won long ago, but he was honestly enjoying this. It was not often that he could do something like this to an opponent anymore. Really was quite the confidence booster, if not very sporting.  
  
"Well, it's been fun, Mez, but I've gotta run!" Kuririn called out, and poured a bit more speed into his legs. In a mere two strides, he was well past his competitor, and zoomed over the finish line, executing a masterful stop.  
  
With a satisfied smirk at the look of astonishment on both Goz's and Gohan Senior's faces, Kuririn waited patently for Mez to cross the finish line. It must have taken a whole forty five seconds, and even Kuririn was surprised at this; he hadn't thought that he had gone that far ahead of him. Panting, and very nearly dragging himself the rest of the way, Mez crossed the line.  
  
"Hey . . ." the red demon said between hoarse breaths. "That's not fair. How did you do that?"  
  
"What do you mean its not fair? I didn't do anything illegal," Kuririn returned.  
  
"Well . . . It . . . I . . ." At last, Mez gave up. "Augh! Okay, fine, you win!" He pointed a finger almost accusingly at Kuririn. "But this isn't over yet! The old man still has to beat Goz!"  
  
With that, Mez stormed off in a huff, and a still astonished Goz followed him, motioning for Kuririn and Gohan Senior to do the same.  
  
But before they did so, Gohan Senior approached Kuririn. "That was most impressive, son. Where did you get that kind of speed?"  
  
Kuririn just shrugged. "Oh, you know. Just the usual training." He let his cheery smile remain on his face for another moment longer before he turned serious again. "But now that my part is over, it's up to you. Are you sure you can handle this?"  
  
"We'll see, son," was Gohan Senior's answer. "I think it's been quite some time since I've done anything of this nature. If I remember what I'm doing, I should be fine. Not sure though."  
  
Strangely, the old man did not seem put off by his own words. In fact, he looked happy, almost excited, and this immediately reminded Kuririn of Goku. Being as happy as can be while stating that he was not sure he could win a battle which would determine their fate. It was not a very inspiring thing, to make an obvious point.  
  
"Oh, goody."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
While the former monk and the old martial arts master contemplated their chances of succeeding in their deal, a much different figure wandered far off.  
  
Much different indeed, for it was easily the size of three houses, whereas the aforementioned could still walk into a children's playhouse with out having to duck their heads. The landscape shook under this figure, and well it should. Many things in Otherworld feared Kyojin, so why not the ground? He grinned happily as wisps scattered out of his path, squealing in fright. Even some of the demons who ran things down here in Hell trembled and ran at the sight of him. He enjoyed this for a while before his mind was finally able to comprehend the fact that this was probably not a good thing. After all, the demons might be able to tell him where his two tiny targets were.  
  
So Kyojin stopped for a moment, picking up one of the fleeing demons by the back of his shirt and bringing him up to face level. "Tell me."  
  
The little demon struggled in his grasp, sweat pouring down its face. He had enough sense to cease his struggles though, and looked up fearfully. "Tell you what?"  
  
Kyojin reached up and scratched his head with his free hand. Didn't everyone know what he was up to? What a shoddily run place this was if they didn't. Why make his work so hard?  
  
"I mean," Kyojin began again, "where are the two that escaped? The tiny bald one and the tiny hairy one?"  
  
"I . . . I haven't seen anyone, I swear!" called out the little demon.  
  
"You swear?"  
  
The demon nodded. "Yes, yes, I swear! Now let me go!"  
  
Casually, Kyojin let the demon drop to the ground and walked off, catching the unfortunate tiny creature under his foot and crushing him. Kyojin lifted his foot and peeled the demon off the sole, dropping him once more. He was not bothered by what he had done. After all, the demon was useless, and it was its own fault for not getting out of the way in time.  
  
What he had to trouble himself over was finding his two targets. He did not like having to wait. The sooner he got to them, the sooner he might be able to smash them to little bits. Lord Enma had better grant him permission.  
  
Nursing thoughts of right and justice in his mind, Kyojin continued on his way, in search of his prey.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
This area was much more private than the last. No stands set up, no cheering spectators. None at all. The place was almost lonely, but for the fact that here were four people here. But in all truth, Gohan did not mind the seclusion of the place. He rather preferred to be on his own. It was a very comforting feeling, and somehow felt familiar to him. Had he often been alone in life?  
  
"All right, old man, here's the deal," began the huge blue demon whose name was Goz. "You see this circle I've drawn?" The demon pointed at the circle of white chalk that had been hastily scrawled onto the ground. "The first one to step outside of this line loses. Got it?"  
  
Gohan nodded. "Sounds simple enough."  
  
He took stock of the area surrounding him, just to get his bearings. In the distance there was a little white building that he knew instinctively was of no consequence. Around him was merely a plain of grass, where Kuririn and Mez stood a respectable distance away from the ring. In fact, the only distinguishing feature about the area was the tall fruit tree that sat just on the edge of the circle. Gohan made a mental note to position himself in front of that tree if it looked as though he might go out of bounds. The tree could probably keep him in this should he falter.  
  
Once more, he glanced back at Kuririn. The poor lad looked a little worried. Perhaps Gohan's earlier words had not inspired a lot of confidence. Still, the boy didn't have to look so distraught. He shot him a smile and a thumbs-up before turning back to his opponent. "Very well, then. Shall we begin?"  
  
"Not so fast, old man," Goz huffed. "I've gotta stretch first. Though I don't know I should bother. What's the risk that I'm gonna pull somethin' fighting an old guy like you?"  
  
As Goz bent and stretched, Gohan felt a frown tug at his lips. The type of tone that he was using, Gohan was not sure that he had ever heard before. At least not directed at him. That tone just radiated smugness and disrespect. A total lack of regard for the opponent. It was offensive, and intentionally so. This demon needed to learn some manners.  
  
As Goz finished his stretches, Gohan lowered himself into a fighting stance. His knees were bent, storing energy, and his fists were raised halfway up his body. The position was not consciously taken; it was merely a product of his body, remembering things that his mind had long-since forgotten. The body of a warrior did not easily forget its roots.  
  
"Okay, old man, I'm ready!" Goz sprung up into his own fighting stance. And it was a rather poor one. The demon looked more like a lumbering gorilla than a fighter, with his legs spread wide apart and his arms hanging loosely down in front of him.  
  
Gohan nodded briefly. "As am I."  
  
"Then on your mark . . . Get set . . . And go!"  
  
Gohan barely dodged to the side in time; his opponent attacked with a speed that had surprised him. But he managed to escape damage and threw a punch of his own. Goz hopped out of the way before making another charge. This one, Gohan stopped by jumping calmly out of the way, and driving his foot into Goz's side.  
  
The blue demon stumbled backward, nearly to the chalk line that indicated the boundaries. From behind him, Gohan heard a little cheer come forth from Kuririn. At this, Gohan smiled. Well. Good to see that the boy could have a little faith in him after all.  
  
But the time to end this was now, before things could drag out for too long. Gohan did not know how much of his fighting memory he had retained, so it was best to be done with this match as soon as possible. He rushed forth, fist raised, before Goz got his bearings unexpectedly, and bashed him with a backhand fist.  
  
"Ungh!" Gohan cried out in pain, and he went sailing back, far back, toward the other edge of the ring . . .  
  
And luckily smashed right into the tree that he had intended to use in case there was trouble. But still, he landed hard, and a few pieces of fruit dropped from the tree, felled by the impact. Rubbing at his head from where one of the fruits had fallen on him, Gohan regained his feet, fists up and prepared to fight again.  
  
"Hey, you!" Goz shouted. What little hair he had on his head was virtually standing on end. Gohan had seen this demon angry earlier, but before now, he had never actually looked frightening. "Stay away from that tree! That contains Lord Enma's special stamina fruit!"  
  
"Goz, you idiot!" Mez called from outside the ring. "Don't tell him that!"  
  
Stamina increasing fruit? Interesting . . . But something that he would have to ponder later. Goz came at him once more, this time with a greater ferocity that he had previously displayed. Gohan dropped to his knees, then swung out one leg to take Goz's out from under him.  
  
The sweep worked, and Gohan hurriedly rolled out of the way to keep the massive demon from falling on him.  
  
Though the move had fooled Goz, he did not stay down for long. He was on his feet again almost in an instant and charging forward yet again. Gohan could not help but admire the demon's persistence. Not such a bad quality to have.  
  
But the demon was clearly getting desperate, and desperation in battle spelled defeat.  
  
And on this charge, Gohan braced his feet wide apart, opening his palms as he did so. He steadied his nerves, waiting as Goz quickly drew closer . . .  
  
And an instant before Goz could hit him, Gohan pushed his hands forward onto his chest and took all of his weight upon him. Using this for momentum, he leaned backwards, falling onto his back and shoving Goz off him.  
  
Goz sailed through the air, wailing comically until he hit the ground with a quite resounding thud. Gohan turned over and sat on his knees, discreetly putting his palm out to the side before pulling it back. He chuckled as Goz dazedly tried to push himself to his feet, but only managed to fall over twice on the same attempt. Well, that should teach that disrespectful creature never to underestimate his opponents.  
  
Gohan rose to his own feet, managing this before his opponent could. Satisfied with his performance, he brushed a little dirt off his clothes and turned to face Kuririn and Mez. On his face, Kuririn wore an expression that bespoke that he was impressed, but had also halfway expected this all along, while Mez was merely shocked. It was quite a pretty sight to see an demon so flabbergasted.  
  
Contented, Gohan strolled out of the ring toward his two spectators. "Well, I suppose that's that, yes?"  
  
Mez was too stunned to speak coherently. "But . . But . . . You . . ."  
  
"A deal's a deal, guys," Kuririn piped up, a smug expression on his face.  
  
"But you guys . . ."  
  
While this had been amusing at the start, Gohan decided that it was time to end this. The demon was hedging too much. "But nothing, lad. Everything was done fairly."  
  
Mez looked resigned. "Yeah, yeah, fine," he said, giving him a wary, suspicious look. A glance back told Gohan that Goz was giving him a look much the same, only there was a bit of anger tingeing it.  
  
"See you later, lads. Come along Kuririn."  
  
Leaving the two demons to grumble and argue over missed opportunities or other such mistakes, Gohan and Kuririn walked away, both with pleased expressions lighting their faces.  
  
"Have to say, those were some nice moves, there," Kuririn said at last.  
  
"Well, thank you, son. I told you that I used to be pretty good at this stuff. That Goz didn't have much in the way of strategy."  
  
Kuririn nodded, and looked back for a second. "Yeah . . . though I was still worried about ya for a second there. I though for a minute that you really might have forgotten that . . ."  
  
"Forgotten what?" Gohan questioned when his companion trailed off. "You can tell me."  
  
Kuririn looked up at him dubiously. "Can I? Back when I first talked to you about leaving, you seemed to not want to remember anything about your life."  
  
Gohan frowned. Well, that was true. But when one had forgotten things completely, he tended not to miss them very much. And for a while, he had forgotten things completely. Thus he'd had no problem with it. It had only been after Kuririn arrived and started asking him about his grandson that he'd had any inkling at all of what he was missing.  
  
That dream he'd had . . . That was about his grandson. Goku. The name had slipped his memory back in the Relegation Room only recently. While it had not disturbed him at first, it certainly did now. Who would want to forget his own grandchild? Perhaps it would be best after all if he remembered . . .  
  
"Well, things are different now," he said at last. "Since we're out of relegation, I think perhaps its about time that I figured out who I was again. I'll need the help."  
  
Kuririn stared at him for a moment. "Okay then. What do you want to know?"  
  
"Everything." 


	7. Apprehension

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN: Apprehension  
  
Never ever before had he had a job that had taken this long. For weeks now, he had been wandering around Hell, trying to find his two targets and had met with no success at all. It never occurred to him that they would be anywhere else; the afterlife was a big place, but the easiest route to and from anywhere was often straight through Hell. Surely the targets could not have gone any other way.  
  
Kyojin was starting to wonder if his two targets had somehow managed to make themselves invisible so that they might hide from him. Hiding from him was a good idea, of sorts. Or it would be until he found them. Then, he would just smash them to bits with or without Lord Enma's position. No creatures small enough to fit on his tiniest finger were going to outwit him. Not he, Kyojin, the greatest of the Otherworld enforcers.  
  
But what a waste this was, of his talents. Maybe he should not have even been assigned this job. If the targets were so small, then he could easily miss them in a crowd. He needed to see details. He could not just smash everything in sight, much as he might want to. Doing that would bring great retribution form the Grand Kai. And he had already suffered that once; he had no desire to do so again.  
  
But, he decided, as he paused to look around at the surrounding landscape. In the near distance, he could see something that actually rose to a decent height. One of those silly rides that the souls enjoyed partaking of. But maybe it was time to ask again for information from the caretakers down here. If they did not know, he could always just smash them like he had done with all of the others.  
  
And so over to the rides he walked, shaking the ground with his strides as always, a warning to all those at his destination. A warning to stand clear and prepare for his arrival. And to pray that they did not incur his wrath. Wise behaviour, for he imagined that nobody appreciated getting smashed. Which was part of the fun of it.  
  
Souls scattered in his wake as he approached the rides. A smell, and a pleasing one at that, wafted into his huge nostrils, and he bent down to pick up one of the small buildings that were sitting just in front of his feet. A soul fled from this building as he lifted it, flying toward the ground with great haste. Carefully, Kyojin took a sniff and determined that the pleasing scent indeed had come from there. It was that delicious stuff that the souls called cotton candy. Thoughtlessly, he popped the whole building into his mouth, crunching down on it happily. At least those tiny creatures knew how to do something right.  
  
"Hey, what's all the ruckus here?"  
  
The voice was small, though everything was small to Kyojin, and he looked down at his feet to see a blue demon rushing up to meet him. This demon was bigger than the others, wide shouldered, and Kyojin assumed that he was quite upset form the tone of his voice; from his height, he could not see the demon's face.  
  
Recognition seemed to come from the demon a moment later. "Oh, hold on here. Kyojin right?"  
  
Kyojin nodded. "Yes, that is me. I have a question. You will answer it."  
  
"Only if I can, pal."  
  
Hmm. How interesting. This creature did not appear to be afraid of him at all. Nearly every living or deceased thing that he encountered feared him. While the change of pace was intriguing, he was not sure whether he liked it or not. He enjoyed being feared, and when something veered from what one enjoyed, it was generally not a good thing.  
  
He opened his mouth to voice his question, but another one stopped him.  
  
"Goz, what are you doing up there?" called out an angry voice. Stomping up the hill came another demon, dressed the same as the first, though this one's skin was red. "Just fix whatever the commotion is and . . ."  
  
This new demon was apparently not as observant as his partner; only now did it notice Kyojin standing high above them. While the demon seemed nonplussed at this sight, he did not seem any more afraid than his companion.  
  
"Oh, an enforcer is here," the red demon said calmly. He turned to the blue one. "Why didn't you just tell me?"  
  
The blue one folded his arms. "I shouldn't have had to tell ya, Mez. He's only the size of three houses. I thought you might have noticed him on your own."  
  
"Are you calling me unobservant?" the red demon countered. "That's sure big talk coming from you!"  
  
"Oh, is it now? Well, I . . ."  
  
Kyojin watched this spectacle with utter bemusement. He had never before seen two creatures argue. Most were too busy staring at him to have any gall whatsoever to carry on a conversation that did not involve him in his presence. He could not hear all of the words that the demons were speaking, but he could make out some exaggerated arm movements. Kyojin almost laughed at the spectacle. But as amusing as this sight was, he was on a mission that may very well entail smashing something. It was very important.  
  
"Silence," he spoke in an even tone, knowing that he did not need to raise his voice; it easily carried over those of the two demons. They looked at him as if they had forgotten that he was there. "I said that I have a question. I expect an answer or I might have to smash you."  
  
The two demons gave each other a sort of annoyed look, and the red one spoke up first. "Well, what's your question, then? We're busy demons, you know!"  
  
"I am looking for two escaped souls," Kyojin began, though he did not like the red demon's tone. "They are very tiny creatures, even tinier than you. One with much hair and one with none. Tell me where they are."  
  
"Look pal, if we knew where –"  
  
"Shut up, Goz! Hold it!" The red demon covered the blue one's mouth with one hand. After giving the blue one a sharp look, it glanced up at him again. "Yeah, yeah. We've seen them. Weeks ago. Long gone by now."  
  
Kyojin frowned. While he was not extremely intelligent, he did know that the orders to capture the two escaped souls would be relayed to all branches of Otherworld. Including these two demons. If they had seen the fugitives and not captured them, then they could be in for a heap of trouble. "I suppose that you could not handle them, and that is why they are still at large."  
  
The blue demon pried the red one's hand off his mouth, and spoke up, "Hey, it's not that we couldn't handle them. They just got lucky, that's all! If we – Ouch! Mez!"  
  
The red demon had jabbed an elbow into his companion's gut. "Shut up Goz! What are you trying to do, get us fired? We'll be history if this reaches Lord Enma!"  
  
Kyojin frowned at the two little creatures before him. So they did not do their jobs. That was an unforgivable sin in his eyes. Not that Kyojin was fully intending to completely obey his orders; he was going to do what he was told to some extent and capture the fugitive souls. But seeing as they had given him so much trouble already, he was ready to smash those souls to bits whether he got his permission from Lord Enma or not.  
  
"You are worthless little creatures," he said at last. The two demons looked up at him, worried, but not panicking. "I should smash you, but I still have a job to do. Unlike you, I will do it."  
  
With that, he began to walk again, purposefully just missing stepping on the two demons as he passed. He may well tell Lord Enma about their disobedience. Maybe he would be rewarded with the assignment of smashing them. How satisfying that would be. A smile tugged on his lips as he continued forward.  
  
But before long, he decided that it would probably be best to go at this in a run. His targets were weeks ahead of him, wherever they were headed, and he need to make up for the intervening distance. With his ground-eating strides, he should be able to make up that weeks' worth of distance in a few hours.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
"I wish that I could tell you more," Kuririn said apologetically, hanging his head a bit. "I'm afraid that we only met for that one time."  
  
"Now, now, that's okay, son. It improves on what I had before."  
  
While that was true, Kuririn felt bad. Just as always, he came up short when someone was counting on him. He could only seem to manage partial success no matter how hard he tried. And it was always his own fault, too. He could have known more about Gohan Senior. All that time that Kuririn had spent with Goku, he could have talked to the Saiyajin about his adoptive grandfather more. Goku was not uncomfortable about the subject; oftentimes, he would mention the old man, and a wistful, happy smirk would come to his face. A memory that seemed to give him serene peace as those of his grandfather did were certainly a good place to dwell. Yes, he should have asked. Should have asked a hundred questions so that he could have been prepared for this moment.  
  
"I guess so, but I still feel bad," he continued. "I can't help you get the rest of your memory back."  
  
Gohan Senior patted him on the back. "I already told you not to worry about it, son. Who knows? With the little jogs that you've given me, perhaps I'll be able to remember everything in time. Provided that I don't end up back in relegation, that is."  
  
Kuririn laughed half heartedly. That was the other thing that bothered him. His whole plan to have his Judgement sped up could very well end up backfiring on him. He should have expected this – his plans usually did backfire – but he had just wanted it so much . . .  
  
Now, they were wanted fugitives, heading straight for the judge that would condemn them. Or at least condemn him. Maybe he could get Gohan Senior off the hook, considering that he had knocked the old man out to get him to come. He could argue that Gohan Senior had been under duress. That could work, and maybe he would get the fate that would originally have been afforded to him.  
  
Kuririn himself on the other hand . . . Well, he'd likely screwed up his chances of going anywhere good, all because of his impatience. He could wind up in some terrible place like the Ironic Punishment division, or straight to . . . Well, here, considering that this was Hell. And maybe he would be stripped of his body to boot. And maybe they would actually just decide to suck his soul away entirely, through the use of some giant evil vacuum, wiping him out of existence entirely. . . Or maybe . . .  
  
Good Kami, if he were still alive he would have scared himself to death by now! It was always worst-case scenario for him, except when Goku was around. Or at least until Goku demonstrated that he could handle things.  
  
That brought his thoughts back to Nameksei once more. He'd been thinking about it a lot in the past few weeks, wondering just what had become of his friends. In all likelihood, they'd bee dead for a while now, and had probably been sent up to Heaven. So not only did he potentially screw up his own fate, he virtually guaranteed that he would never see his friends again for the rest of eternity. Who did he have down here? Vegeta? Kuririn shuddered. There was an unpleasant thought. Though he had felt sad at the Saiyajin prince's death – there had just been an overriding sense of pointlessness to it that had gotten to him somehow – he did not exactly want to meet up with the man again. Knowing his temper, he would probably want to . . .  
  
Kuririn shook his head. There he went with worst-case scenario stuff again. He really need to get his head on straight, and convince himself that while something terrible was certainly going to happen to him for this, it likely would not be quite as terrible as he thought. He hoped, anyway. Though his hopes often . . .  
  
He would have cut himself off again, but something did it for him. He had not noticed it at first, but now he recognized the feeling of the ground trembling underneath him, just a bit.  
  
But that was not what made his head shoot up in worry. No, a trembling ground he could deal with; it was the ki signature that went along with it that bothered him. It was powerful, not by far the most powerful that he had ever felt – this level of strength was laughable compared to Frieza – but it would be enough to give him trouble if it caught up to them.  
  
"Do you feel that, son?" Gohan Senior asked. "Something is coming our way, and I don't think that it's friendly."  
  
Kuririn blinked for a few seconds in disbelief. Somehow, it had not occurred to him that Gohan Senior would know how to sense ki. He supposed that he should not have been surprised; the old man had once been a student of Muten Roshi, after all, but it was a slight surprise nonetheless. He had been so locked in protective mode that he had forgotten that Gohan Senior was unlike the other people he had protected – most of them, anyway – in that he actually knew a thing or two about how to take care of himself.  
  
"No, it doesn't. I think our best bet is to get outta here!"  
  
Without waiting for a reply, Kuririn hoisted Gohan Senior over his shoulder, and took off into the air. The direction did not matter, as long as they got a way from that large approaching ki.  
  
Gohan Senior put one hand on his head to hold his hat in place. "This is certainly a nice usage of ki, son!" he shouted over the wind that was surely in his ears. "Though I don't see why you didn't just do this from the start."  
  
Despite the air of desperation around them, Kuririn could not help but smile and add a little levity to the situation. "What you think I was going to carry you the whole way to Judgement? Do you want me to break my back?"  
  
Gohan Senior just chuckled a bit. "Maybe I did at first, considering how you got me to come along with you on this fool quest."  
  
And so the lighter mood continued in spite of the fact that they were being pursued. After all, the ki was strong, but it was not really all that fast. Kuririn was sure that he could easily out fly it. He was sure that it would be far, far behind them in a matter of mere moments. He was sure that . . .  
  
Why in the world was he ever sure of anything?  
  
He felt more than heard or saw the attack that came, a gigantic fist slammed into the ground just beneath them, fully embedding itself in the earth. Rocks sprayed upward, nearly striking Kuririn in the chest and knocking Gohan Senior from his hands, but he managed to evade them, and his grip held firm. They were in real trouble now.  
  
"Kuririn, watch out!"  
  
Gohan Senior's voice came at the perfect time, and Kuririn looked back just at the precise moment to see a monstrous foot bearing down upon them. He quickly and nimbly dodged to the side, but was caught unawares by another foot descended toward the spot he had just dodged to. There was not as much time to evade this strike, and though he managed to mostly get out of the way, the outside edge of the foot caught him in the back.  
  
Kuririn's flight was derailed, and he instinctively tossed Gohan Senior away from him in order for to keep himself from landing on and possibly injuring the old man. Kuririn, for his part, tumbled to the ground which was trembling under the impact of the giant feet.  
  
But the fall was not enough to injure him – he had endured drops from greater heights with little or no damage – and he was up on his feet almost instantly. His head snapped up to get a view of their attacker. And his gaze went up, and up, and up . . .  
  
Geez, as if he didn't feel small enough around normal-sized people.  
  
Unsurprisingly, considering the size of the limbs that had attacked them, the figure was a giant. Several stories high, easily, a good seventy feet tall. Other than that, it looked rather humanoid, with yellowed skin and red slitted eyes. Two large fangs protruded from under its lips, as though the creature were some sort of relative to a sabre-toothed tiger. And those hands and feet that head nearly crushed them contained fingers and toes tipped with fearsome looking claws.  
  
Kuririn swallowed. This just was not his day. 


	8. The Bigger They Are

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT: The Bigger They Are . . .  
  
It was just too much. First, he had been killed. Then, his files weren't in order, so he got sent to the Relegation Room. Then he concocted some insane plane to get to Judgement before it was ready for him. He was willing to admit that the whole episode with Goz and Mez was actually kind of fun. But this, being hunted down by a giant that looked as though it would step on you or eat you as soon as it would look at you was just not something that he wanted to deal with.  
  
But since when did he ever get to deal with things that he wanted to deal with? His whole existence was a polar opposite to such a concept.  
  
Kuririn tore his gaze away from the giant for a moment to check on Gohan Senior. The old man was on the other side of the giant, and was slowly climbing to his feet. He looked unhurt, if a bit dazed, and Kuririn managed a smile at this. At least his friend was all right. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to take care of this giant who did not exactly look very happy to see them.  
  
"So you are the tiny ones that escaped," the giant said, his voice echoing for surely miles across the landscape of Hell and in Kuririn's ears, and he longed to cover them, but he knew that he could not spare the time. It was too valuable. "I would suggest that you run away no longer. I've had quite a time looking for you, and it has been very frustrating."  
  
Kuririn calmed down a hair. This thing was not as rampagingly angry as it had seemed at the start. Maybe he could reason with it. "Well, that's really unfortunate, sir. You know, we'd actually . . ."  
  
"It was merely my job to bring you back before, to face Lord Enma," the giant interrupted. "But the search had been so frustrating that I've just decided to smash you without permission."  
  
Kuririn gulped. What was with this guy? He didn't seem especially perturbed in any way, yet he was still planning to kill them? Or not kill, but . . . Augh, forget about it. The question of whether something that was already dead could be killed again was one that he did not exactly have the time to contemplate at the moment. There were far more pressing issues at hand.  
  
"Hey, look," Kuririn said, though his voice was a little shaky. Maybe he could still get Gohan Senior off the hook. "My friend here didn't do anything willingly. I made him come here. Why don't you just take him back to Judgement, and you can come after me." This time, the words were much braver sounding, even though he did not feel any braver in his heart. But he felt honourable at least.  
  
"Hold on a second son!" Gohan Senior called out. "Just what do you think you're –"  
  
"I know what I'm doing!" Kuririn shouted back before his companion could finish the protest. He had to move quickly. "Just relax!"  
  
Not exactly a lie, but not really the truth either. The real truth was that he knew what he wanted to do, but he was unsure of how to go about it. He couldn't risk shouting for Gohan Senior to escape, at least not yet. The giant would surely track him down easily and destroy him, so he had to hope that this would work.  
  
The typical response to his hopes greeted him; the giant laughed. "You are a funny creature, tiniest of ones. But Kyojin, the greatest of the Otherworld's enforcers, does not become swayed by his sense of humour. One out of two is no deal. It must be both."  
  
Great. Well, that plan was shot. Now was the time for the secondary plan. Either luckily or unluckily, the giant, Kyojin, set it in motion for him.  
  
"But I will grant you part of your request, tiniest of ones," Kyojin continued at last. "I will simply smash you first."  
  
Well, that was a relief. Sort of. He had been afraid for a moment that the giant was going to go after Gohan Senior. Or was this turn of events really so fortunate? After all, had the giant turned around to make a strike at Gohan Senior, Kuririn could have launched a sneak attack from behind . . .  
  
Oh, well. More important things to worry about now.  
  
Kyojin's fist came at him again, and he hopped backward to evade it. With surprising speed, the giant lifted his arm out of the ground and lunged at him once again. Kuririn scarcely managed to leap into the air to evade this one, and he barely had time to sigh in relief before he looked up into the face of yet another oncoming attack.  
  
With a gasp of alarm, Kuririn twisted his body minutely to evade the edge of Kyojin's other fist, and cupped his hands to form a small ki blast. He had not the time, nor truly the energy for anything major. The power built in his hands for a few seconds . . .  
  
Kyojin's hand shot toward him again, open-palmed this time, and on pure instinct he let out a cry and fired the ki blast that he had been forming.  
  
The blast exploded into the giant's palm, and Kuririn heard Kyojin cry out in mild pain as the blast struck, and pulled his hand away. With his opponent thus distracted, he flew behind Kyojin's head and gathered ki around his fist. His gloved hand glowed with the varying intensity of blue- white light and he drove it forward, right into the back of Kyojin's skull.  
  
It was a particularly skilful blow, similar to the one that he had used to knock out Gohan Senior a few weeks prior. And it seemed that Kyojin might have fallen victim to it just the same; the giant swayed unsteadily on his feet before toppling forward onto his face. The ground trembled and gave way under his weight, the full force hitting all at once. A tremendous dust cloud rose from this impact, and Kuririn was not quite high enough for it to avoid reaching him. He placed a hand over his mouth and coughed a little, trying to see through the cloud.  
  
But a sudden thought struck him, and he inadvertently took his hand away from his mouth. Immediately, he began to cough, but his mind was elsewhere. Where was Gohan Senior? He'd been standing near the base of Kyojin's feet the last time that he'd checked . . . He might still be . . .  
  
Suddenly, Kuririn did not feel quite so proud of his move. He may have just gotten his companion squished flat. Ironically – and he had no idea why this thought came to mind – it was the very same way that Gohan Senior had ended his true life. Ironic, yes, but he failed to find it very funny at the moment.  
  
"Gohan!" he called through the dust cloud. He was using whatever free breaths he could manage between fits of coughing. "Gohan? Are you okay down there?"  
  
He flew closer to the ground as the dust began to clear, searching over and around in any direction he could think of. He came upon Kyojin's unmoving leg and paused for a moment. Like it or not, his companion could well be lying under that leg, in Kami only knew what kind of condition. And it was all Kuririn's fault. If only he had been smarter, actually done a little thinking before he rushed into this crazy plan . . .  
  
"Kuririn." A hand on his shoulder and the sound of his name startled him, and with a scream, he jumped and turned.  
  
But the sight that greeted him clamed his nerves immediately. "Oh, geez, there you are. Don't ever do that to me again."  
  
Gohan Senior just chuckled. "My apologies, son. But have you forgotten that I am not so fragile or frozen as to need constant attention in battle? I thought I was supposed to be the forgetful one around here."  
  
"Well, I just haven't caught up to you yet," Kuririn returned, his relief putting him into somewhat of a joking mood. "And it doesn't look like I will. Considering where I'm probably going to end up for this stunt, though . . ."  
  
He didn't get a chance to finish his thought. Predictably, or it should have been for Kuririn, Kyojin's foot twitched. First once, then many times in succession. The legs followed suit, and sure enough, the motion had travelled throughout the giant's body, right up to its massive head. And that head raised, the red-slitted eyes narrowed in fury, and Kuririn was almost too resigned to feel any terror at this.  
  
He had just knocked out the giant for a few seconds. Then it woke up, and looked bent on ripping him to pieces. Yep, that sounded like his luck all right.  
  
Kuririn pulled Gohan Senior down to his level. "Look. I'll draw this guy away and you make a break for it."  
  
"You've lost you mind, son, if you think that I would just –"  
  
"Do it. I think I can handle this guy one more time." Kuririn glanced at his companion, noticing the dubious expression on his face. He smirked ruefully. "Not convincing, huh?"  
  
Gohan Senior shook his head. "I'm afraid not, son. You were almost there, though."  
  
"Well, better luck next time, I guess." Kuririn's smile widened in spite of everything. "Now go!"  
  
He did not wait for Gohan Senior's response; he merely leapt forward with his leg extended, and struck Kyojin right between his huge eyes. The blow caused the giant's head to rear back slightly, but moreso only served to make him angry. Which had been the plan anyway. Kyojin rushed to his feet, swinging out his fist once more in an attempt to catch Kuririn, but Kuririn hopped straight into the air to avoid the blow. He took a quick glance down at Gohan Senior, and sighed in irritation. The old man wasn't moving. He guessed that he should have expected as much, but it was still not an encouraging sight to see. Looked like he was going to have to play the role of kamikaze again, just as he had done to save the younger Gohan from Frieza.  
  
"Hey, Kyojin!" he called out tauntingly. He stuck out his tongue. "Come over here and see if you can catch this!"  
  
Kyojin roared in anger and swung a fist at him again, and Kuririn dodged this, albeit just barely. He turned in his flight, racing toward a set of high mountains. This had better work.  
  
A quick glance over his shoulder told him that it indeed was working. One of his rare successes then, though when he taunted an enemy it rarely happened that they did not follow after him in a blind rage. He sure knew how to pick his spots sometimes. He just wished that it was more often than getting an extremely dangerous person to be hunting him down. Something a little less frightening would do him just fine.  
  
He dropped slightly to evade Kyojin's knee, which had come out of nowhere, probably in mid-stride. And he had to move again quickly as the other knee came up – stupid, stupid move; he had dodged to the inside. He dove at an angle so as to not have to get out of the way of a constant barrage of knees.  
  
Instead, a foot shot out, this time obviously an intentional attack. Kuririn dropped to the ground for a second to get under the blow, then took off again.  
  
All of this dodging was doing him little good. He was going to have to start attacking this monster again if he expected to get out of here in one piece. But right now, he did not have the room, did not have the time. He needed to buy it somehow, and maybe those mountains would be able to help him.  
  
Long shots, long shots. His existence was just chock-full of them.  
  
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They moved out of his sight quicker than he had expected. For a moment, Gohan Senior just stood there, patting dust out of his clothing and watching as Kuririn and Kyojin disappeared into the distance. He felt left out somehow, as if he could provide some significant help were he still present. It might have seemed a strange thought to anyone else, considering that the power of Kyojin far outstripped his own, but power was not everything. He had been about equal in power with Goz and had defeated him easily. Skill and technique made a big difference, as he had proven just there. And Kyojin did not seem to be a great deal brighter than Goz. The giant had a one-track mind and was quickly incited to anger and thus easy to exploit in battle, as Kuririn was already proving.  
  
Before he even realized it, Gohan's legs were moving, not away from the battle but toward it, following the instinct to help. Kuririn was a good boy, and did not deserve to get rent limb form limb by that creature. The boy's methods to get him to come along here were questionable – outright dishonest, in fact – but his heart had been in the right place. Yes, he was a good boy, and good boys did not deserve to get crushed by giants. Perhaps he could give him a hand.  
  
But they had gone so far out of sight, were so far away, that his legs began to tire and his lungs to burn. He stopped, breathing hard, and cursing himself for a lack of endurance. If he could not reach the battle then Kuririn might . . .  
  
Wait. Gohan reached into his pocket and pulled out something that he had just taken for emergency. He had not expected to actually need it, but a wise person took every precaution that he could get, and he was indeed a wise person.  
  
He stared at the piece of fruit in his hand for a moment. Just a simple looking peach, but to have heard the demons Goz and Mez talk about it, this was the greatest wonder of nature. An increased endurance at least, and who knew what else? Mez had stopped Goz before he could say anything more about the fruit. If it was sacred to the lord of the dead, then it must be special indeed. Perhaps it could give him the boost that he needed.  
  
With no more hesitation, Gohan popped the fruit into his mouth. It tasted just as any typical peach would, though how he could have remembered that he was not quite sure. The dead tended not to eat anything, so the last time he had in fact eaten was probably back when he was alive. Being away from the Relegation Room must really have been helping his memory.  
  
And the fruit began to suddenly live up to its reputation. A new strength flowed through his limbs. His tiredness vanished. Even his head seemed to be clearer than it had been before. This was the best that he had felt since . . . Well, ever. Or at least in his memory, shaky as that still was.  
  
He smiled for a moment, flexed his hand. The new sensations flowing through him were quite invigorating and he caught himself marvelling at them for a while.  
  
But a distant crash, and a rising could of dust dragged him back into reality. Oh, yes. Kuririn. That was the reason that he had eaten the fruit in the first place. It was time to go.  
  
Gohan's legs pumped harder than he had previously imagined, and he took off at greater speed. Hopefully, Kuririn could last long enough for him to be able to help him defeat Kyojin.  
  
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Kuririn ducked under an outcropping as Kyojin's fist crashed into the side of a mountain, bringing rocks raining down in front of him. He turned his head away to avoid getting dust in his mouth. If he started coughing, he would give away his position.  
  
Just as the rocks stopped raining down, Kuririn charged forward, leg extended toward Kyojin's gut. The blow, unexpected completely by its recipient, landed perfectly, and the giant staggered back a few steps before swatting at Kuririn like he was a fly.  
  
"Whoa!" Kuririn cried as he shot up a bit to avoid the giant's hand. But he was not entirely successful; the tip of one of Kyojin's fingers caught him in the back and knocked him out of the sky.  
  
His shoulder hit the side of the mountain first, but did not give way under the pressure. He tumbled down the mountain on his side, jarring loose chunks of rock to fall down with him.  
  
He had bearings enough to grasp hold of another outcropping just as he tumbled over it. The rocks and dust cascaded over him, continuing on their one way trip to the ground. He sighed in relief, but did not allow himself to be relieved for long. He climbed onto the outcropping and looked up.  
  
Kyojin stood as always, one fist embedded in the mountainside. His head swung this way and that in a clear search for him. The giant did not know where he was. Perhaps he could get another sneak attack in, just one with a little more power this time. He needed to keep the giant out for longer, but he did not want to kill him. Killing was not exactly a very fun thing as far as he was concerned. He just bet that Kyojin would disagree with him on that one.  
  
"Where have you gone, tiniest of ones?" Kyojin called out, as Kuririn rose behind him. The giant no longer seemed angry at all. More like playful, as if this whole ordeal was a game to him. It probably was. "No matter how small you are, you cannot hide from me forever!"  
  
Not that he would need forever. Just another minute or two would do him just fine right now. He floated behind Kyojin's neck, keeping in time with his head movements, as he once again poured ki into his hand. The same place as his last good hit would suffice; it just need to be more powerful. Just another minute more. He had to hope that Kyojin would not notice him for another minute more.  
  
He almost got his wish.  
  
Just as he decided that he had enough power channelled into his fist and was pulling it back, Kyojin turned, swinging an open palm with him. There was no time to dodge.  
  
The palm struck Kuririn full force, dissipating the ki in his hand and knocking him across the landscape. He tried to right himself in the air, but the pain from the blow was too distracting. And it was soon accompanied by a new one as his back slammed into a mountainside. The rock crumbled a bit under the force of his impact, and he began to roll down the mountain. He was still conscious at this point, though he did not know how that was possible. And he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. At least if he were knocked out, he would not be feeling this pain right now.  
  
He stopped rolling, finally, and he assumed that he had hit the ground. He let this thought relax him somewhat, and he lay there for a few seconds for his head to clear.  
  
When it did, he found that he was not on the ground as he had thought. Not unless the ground here was yellow and had calloused fingers. He would have shot up in shock if he'd had the energy for it. No, this certainly was not the ground. He was in Kyojin's hand. And slowly, terribly, the hand began to close. 


	9. The Harder They Fall

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER NINE: . . . The Harder They Fall  
  
He wondered if Goku had ever felt like this.  
  
Kuririn could not keep the parallel out of his mind. He had seen Goku in this exact situation before, at the hands of Vegeta. He remembered the sight of his friend in the hands of the horrible monster that was an oozaru, being slowly crushed. If this was what it had felt like, then Kuririn had found a whole new level of respect for the man that he had always respected more than he had thought possible. This was quite the painful experience.  
  
He grimaced as Kyojin lifted him up to eye level, but did not close his eyes. Oh, sure, he was pretty scared right now – an understatement, to be sure; he was terrified – but he didn't exactly want the giant to know that. He did have a little bit of pride in himself.  
  
"That was not a good trick to pull, tiniest of ones," the giant said, his voice at what would have been a whispering tone to him, but was still loud to Kuririn's ears. "You did that once before, and it seems that I was right to think that you might try it again."  
  
Well, Kuririn had to acknowledge that perhaps that had not been the smartest of moves. Kyojin had not exactly stricken him as being very bright, but that didn't necessarily mean that he was quite dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. He should have tried another tack.  
  
But hindsight was perfect, wasn't it?  
  
And so here he was, trapped in the gigantic fist of some great monster, waiting to find out just how much damage could be inflicted on a dead person such as himself. He tried to wriggle free, but his impacts into the mountainside had sapped his strength, and the way that Kyojin was holding him – squeezing him, actually – was not exactly helping.  
  
And the pressure got tighter and tighter, threatening to crush whatever bones where left in his spiritual body . . .  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
It was about time.  
  
As if the search itself had not been maddening enough, the tiny ones had been making things even harder for themselves. While all of his victims tended to try to avoid being smashed, none of them tried things to this extent. The tiny bald one had even injured him, something that had not happened in several hundred years. Needless to say, that fact was just a little upsetting.  
  
The smashing would otherwise have been quick, for Kyojin was not one to draw out the fate of his victims. Just because he liked to crush things didn't mean that he was cruel, after all. But the tiny bald creature had just been too annoying thus far and consequently deserved a little more suffering before his fate was handed down.  
  
And he had to admit that this was rather fun. Even if his current victim happened to be looking him straight in the eye and was not screaming. Well, he couldn't have anything, he supposed.  
  
Besides, this gave him the perfect excuse to crush him harder.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
It was a long run, even with the increased stamina provided by the sacred fruit. But Gohan could eventually see the huge form of Kyojin looming in the distance, rock dust still rising around him. The giant must have made a great many strikes at those peaks. Which meant that Kuririn had been doing and excellent job of evading them. There was every possibility that the boy would not really need his help at all, but it was better safe than sorry. An insurance policy never hurt anyone.  
  
He came closer now, completely unnoticed by the giant. Even when he made it up to Kyojin's feet, Gohan was not discovered. Such an unobservant creature, but he supposed that it was like a person not knowing that an ant was crawling onto their shoe. Anything of such a size was too small and insignificant to even register a glance. And this was a very useful thing, in fact. An unnoticed bug could be a dangerous bug if given the proper chance.  
  
And Gohan knew that he could be a dangerous bug indeed. If it was necessary, that was. It might not be.  
  
He halted momentarily, wondering why the giant was not making any more attacks. His eyes glanced about, trying to find any sign of Kuririn, but did not catch one. At last, Gohan closed his eyes, relying on that old trick of ki sensing that he had learned at some point during his life. While the dead did not truly have anything in the way of ki, there was always a residue, he had noticed. A residue of the power that the person had possessed in life. It was almost non-existent in even mighty warriors – he had seen a few of those, in the Relegation Room – and thus was not easy to detect. But if one was skilled enough in the art of ki sensing, and could concentrate hard enough, then it was possible to detect someone by his ki.  
  
And as it happened, Gohan was both very skilled at ki-sensing, and possessed great concentration. He was able to lock onto Kuririn's residual ki, and he opened his eyes to follow the trail.  
  
He almost choked at what his eyes showed him. Oh, Kuririn was here, all right – and being held between the huge hands of Kyojin, looking to be on the verge of being crushed. Whatever Kuririn's strength had been before – and it had been considerable, in Gohan's observation – it had obviously taken such a hit that he could not escape form this grasp on his own. He was trapped.  
  
So what was there to do? He could feel this monster's ki easily, and it dwarfed his as much as his body did. There was no way that he would be able to strike an effective blow, or one that the giant even would notice. How could he expect to free Kuririn, if he could not do anything to warrant the monster's attention?  
  
He had to think quickly – Kuririn did not appear to have a lot of time left. Gohan glanced around desperately left and right, trying to find something that might serve as a distraction against Kyojin, but the only thing in sight were the mountains. And those were no help, really . . . Wait.  
  
An idea formed inside of Gohan's head, triggered by a memory of something that had occurred just as he and Kuririn had been escaping from the Relegation Room. That move he had used . . . It had seemed so familiar to him, even back then, when his memory had been at its foggiest. Something kept telling him that he knew that attack.  
  
The Kamehameha Wave.  
  
If he could remember how to do that, then there might be a chance to do something . . . But his memory still was not perfect, and he could not quite determine how the attack was performed.  
  
But still, with nothing else to do – he heard Kuririn cry out from above – Gohan knew that this was the only choice. He would have to go from recent memory and work out the rest of the details from there.  
  
And he cupped his hands at his side, whispering the first syllables to the attack's name. "Ka . . . me . . ."  
  
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The pain was getting worse and worse. He didn't even think that it had hurt this much when he had been killed – by Frieza, not by one of Piccolo Daimio's children, though both had been pretty painful. He supposed that when you were already dead that you could handle more pain without losing consciousness or any other additional bad things happening to you. Someone like Goku would probably enjoy finding out something like that, but to Kuririn, it just wasn't very fun.  
  
He continued to struggle, but to no avail. His strength was simply sapped too much from being thrown into the mountainside and subsequently crushed into Kyojin's hands. He wasn't giving up, though part of him wanted to. If it was just a matter of himself, he probably would have. But it was not a matter of just himself. Gohan Senior was a concern here, too. He had to buy the old man enough time to escape, to get to Judgement without being harmed by this brutal giant.  
  
He could only hope that it was working out well.  
  
He tried to wince, but did not have even the strength for that, as Kyojin laughed in his face as he slowly crushed him. It wasn't bad enough that he was likely suffering some fate worse than death, he had smell this thing's breath too.  
  
But something caught his attention suddenly. A faint stirring of ki, he was surprised to note. And it was coming form nearby, almost right below him.  
  
Despite his current situation, Kuririn could not help his curiosity in this matter. Just what was going on down there? Strenuously, he turned his head toward that stirring of ki.  
  
And he stiffened in shock. If he didn't know better, that was Gohan Senior down there, a blue ball of ki forming between his hands. Or so Kuririn assumed – ki attacks being fired from the hands and all, as a matter of course. And Kuririn was sure of which ki attack this was. There was only one, that he was aware of, anyway, that Gohan Senior knew how to perform. Or had when he was alive.  
  
He was going to do a Kamehameha Wave.  
  
This thought failed to hearten Kuririn however, though he had to appreciate the old man's gustiness. But there was no way that any attack Gohan Senior could fire off was going to do anything more to Kyojin than make him itch. He appreciated the old man's thoughts and attempt to help, but it just wasn't worth the effort. There was no hope.  
  
Or if there was a hope, it was the desperate, far fetched hope that Gohan Senior had some sort of plan. Kuririn, with nothing else better to do, decided that he might as well latch on to that hope. It was his one and only shot.  
  
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The knowledge came instinctively, but he did not know its source. His memory still was not complete, perhaps would never be again, but as soon as he had taken this pose that he had seen Kuririn use, he seemed to know exactly what to do.  
  
The hands were cupped at his side, heels of them touching in order to prevent any ki from escaping. And then he searched within the centre of himself, looking for that warm spark of power that was in all beings, though few enough ever managed to find it, and fewer still managed to use it. From there, it was a matter of pulling this power into his hands, forcing it outward through the skin of his palms. And he had to keep doing it, forming all of this power into a condensed ball of pure ki resting between said cupped hands. And yet more gathered there, layering it for when it had to be elongated. The more power was concentrated into it, the further the potential range. Its power could only increase so much. The Kamehameha Wave was a blast attack, not a ball attack, so some strength had to be sacrificed for momentum. It was just the way things worked.  
  
The power felt warm in his hands, and familiar. Very familiar, as if he had performed this move many times in the past. And this unknown knowledge gave him a surety in himself, a confidence that this quickly thought plan of his was going to work.  
  
"Ha . . . Me . . . "  
  
He stopped gathering power now; he had all that he could muster, and all that he needed to use. Now was the time for targeting, something at least as important as the attack itself. For what good was an attack, it if did not strike the proper target? And his eyes locked upon this target. Not the giant slowly crushing his companion. No, not that at all, though that would have been the most obvious choice. For this situation, for the lack of power he had in comparison to this creature, to try and attack it directly would be not only improper, but foolish. And Gohan was not a foolish man. He never had been.  
  
"Ha!" He shouted out the final syllable as he thrust his hands forward, pushing the energy out ahead of him. It blasted upward in a torrent of brilliant light, blanking out everything, and leaving things in a negative image when there was anything to see.  
  
And this blast continued upward further and further, narrowly missing Kyojin's hand, the one with Kuririn in it, and struck the target that he had intended all along. The mountain.  
  
With a great explosion of dust, the mountain began to crumble apart, and the huge chunks of rock rained down upon Kyojin's arm. Under too much stress from the weight, the arm was brought down, and the hand relaxed its hold.  
  
And with that relaxed hold, Kuririn fell to the ground.  
  
Gohan dropped to his knees, sweat pouring down his face, lungs burning, and air more desperate to stay out of his mouth than go into it. That attack had taken so much power that it had drained him almost completely, left him barely able to move. But he had to move in short order. It would not be long before Kyojin noticed him and decided to exact vengeance on him for such a move. And also, he had to find Kuririn. The boy might have been buried under the rock slide, if he had been unlucky.  
  
He forced himself to his feet, still panting, and his head swam as he stood. It threatened to drag him down into unconsciousness, but he fought it. He could rest after this ordeal was over. He had not the time for such things now.  
  
Forcing his legs to move, he headed toward the avalanche that he had created, silently hoping that he hadn't accidentally done his companion – friend – any more harm than he had already been enduring.  
  
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Kuririn had never been so happy in his life to hit the ground.  
  
Normally, it was not a good sensation, crashing onto the earth after failing to stop your momentum, but right now it felt great. Better than being crushed, anyway. He would take this any day of the week.  
  
Still, despite this sentiment, he could not move for a moment. His head was too heavy and his body in too much pain. Both of which would hopefully pass quickly. The likelihood that Kyojin had been injured much by that move of Gohan Senior's, clever though it was, was not all that high. At any second, the giant could rise, and be in one heck of a rotten mood. Best to deal with him before that happened.  
  
So when the pain dissipated a little bit, but not very much, Kuririn pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He coughed out dust, and lifted one fist to wipe the offending particles out of his eyes. Now or never, if he wanted to get this done, if only he could just manage the strength . . .  
  
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Kuririn jumped, startled for a moment, thinking rather absurdly that it belonged to Kyojin. But in fact, and what made his mistake so silly that he could not help but feel foolish in such a dire situation, it was Gohan Senior. The old man had a concerned but relieved look on his face. And, unless Kuririn missed his guess, there was a hint of pride in that expression too.  
  
"Well, there you are, son," Gohan Senior said kindly, and with a little bit of a laugh. "I was afraid for a moment that you might have gotten crushed under all this rock. It would have been most unfortunate.  
  
Kuririn smiled in spite of himself. "Gee, you think?"  
  
Gohan Senior chuckled a little, but Kuririn glanced upward and shushed him. Kyojin was prying his arm out from under the rubble, was almost through in fact, and the expression on his face bespoke that he was completely and utterly through with playing around, with stalling, with prolonging anything more than was necessary.  
  
The giant was angry.  
  
And once his arm was free, he quickly found them, those red slitted eyes narrowing in fury., And his leg lifted furiously, preparing for a run at them. Kuririn might have had enough time to leap out of the way with Gohan Senior, had he not been injured. But as he was now . . .  
  
"Gohan, run!" he shouted to his companion. But the old man did not listen to him.  
  
"Not a chance, son. Here!" was his response.  
  
Kuririn was about to form a reply, but he suddenly found his mouth full. He wanted to pull this thing out – and give the old man an annoyed glare for his trouble – but Gohan Senior shoved it further into his mouth. Reflexively, Kuririn bit down . . .  
  
And his limbs started to feel a little better. Not uninjured, but still strong. Whatever this thing in his mouth was, it was giving him back the energy that he so desperately needed at a time like this. He managed another few chews before Kyojin reached them, and with newfound strength he blasted into the air enveloped in white ki. Just below them, Kyojin's fist ripped though the ground.  
  
Kuririn finished chewing and then swallowed what was in his mouth. It had been some kind of fruit, from the tangy, acrid taste. He shot Gohan Senior a look, and found the old man just giving him a smile and a single nod. Kuririn did not know what he had done, but he was glad of it. And he could ask about it later.  
  
Already, ki was gathering in his hands, preparing once more for a heavy strike. He kept Gohan Senior close to him – there was no safe place to drop him off – as Kyojin tore his fist out of the ground, glaring at them balefully.  
  
"That is the last time you fool me, tiny ones!" the giant roared. "I will have no more of this!"  
  
And once more, the giant charged. Kuririn increased his altitude a little, coming to the height just above Kyojin's nose. His ki gathering hand was behind his back, hiding, storing power . . .  
  
It happened in a split instant. For the briefest of time periods Kuririn was staring straight into one of Kyojin's monstrous red eyes, and the next, the giant was sailing backward, eventually crashing into a mountainside. The mountain broke apart under the intense force, a horrible storm of solid thunder. And it continued to fall until Kyojin was buried beneath it.  
  
A light patter of tiny stones completed their descent, accompanying the cloud of dust that had risen from the impact of the collapsing mountain.  
  
Arm still extended from his punch, Kuririn exhaled a sigh of relief. His arm was still twitching from the force he had needed to put into that blow. And while he was exhausted, breathing heavily and a little dizzy, he could not help but feel a little sense of pride. He sure had made that shot count.  
  
But, fearing that his dizziness might cause an unfortunate fall, Kuririn lowered himself and Gohan Senior to the ground. Once there, he left his companion free.  
  
They stood near the spot where Kyojin was buried, one huge foot sticking out from the pile of rubble. A long, tense moment passed, Kuririn fully expecting the giant to leap up from under the broken mountain and crush them before they could move. Fortunately, though, nothing happened. Kuririn searched for the giant's ki, and he did find it, low and weak, but fairly steady. For seemingly the millionth time that day, he sighed in relief. He was really glad that he wasn't dead. During a desperate time or two in the battle, he had been on the verge of using the kienzan. It might well have been his signature move, but he never relished the thought of using it. Too deadly.  
  
"It would seem that some congratulations are in order, son," Gohan Senior said simply. "That move took a lot of courage, and probably saved our souls."  
  
Well, there was always that, Kuririn supposed. And actually, this wasn't so bad. He felt strong, useful, a complete contrast to how he had felt while fighting against Frieza. A complete contrast to how he felt about himself in general. Yep, he had done some pretty good work here.  
  
But his optimism was short lived, as it usually tended to be, and he frowned. "Or doomed them. This guy was sent to track us down, or so he said, for us escaping the Relegation Room. Taking him out might not have been very bright."  
  
This seemed to sober Gohan Senior. The old man's moustache drooped, indicating that he had taken up a frown as well. "I hadn't thought of that. You might be right, son."  
  
Kuririn shook his head, silently wondering if this whole insane ordeal had been futile. The both of them could end up with a terrible punishment, but as he had determined before, he might be able to get Gohan Senior off the hook. There were so many dealings in this place that he would likely never fathom them, much less have done so in only a few weeks. Maybe they just should have waited. Maybe his case would not have taken as long as that office demon had said.  
  
Again, with the hindsight being perfect. Hindsight was very annoying that way.  
  
Considering the fugitive road that he had taken and had forced upon Gohan Senior, Kuririn decided that it was time to do things honourably for a change. Oh, they would still head to Judgement; it would be foolish not to find their destination after coming this far, enduring all this trouble. But the rest, he would deal with fair and square. And that included whatever punishment he would face for his reckless actions.  
  
He lifted his head. "Come on, Gohan," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice level. "I think that we've got a journey to finish." 


	10. Lord and Judge

Tell No Tales  
  
CHAPTER TEN: Lord and Judge  
  
It was not as busy as normal around the admissions building. Death had apparently decided to have a light duty work day, which suited the office demons and their boss just fine. While Lord Enma would insist that he enjoyed his job and wouldn't mind if things remained relentlessly busy, all knew that it was a lie. Oh, Lord Enma enjoyed his job, to be sure, but even he liked to have a little free time, once in a while. It was good for improving his ping-pong game.  
  
"Okay, let's keep things moving," an office demon said with bored authority. Unlike some others here, he was quiet and efficient and genuinely enjoyed the role he played in organizing the lives of the dead. He waved one hand, urging on a soul. "You're next, sir. Move along."  
  
The soul floated past him easily, without protest or any other kind of comment, which was always the preferable way to go. Moved things along faster when a soul did not stop to chat. The office demon filled in various boxes on the page of his clipboard, completing this soul's registration information . . .  
  
"Ahem. Excuse us."  
  
Almost, but not quite startled, the office demon looked up at the sound of the polite voice that had just spoken. What was more surprising than the voice was that the speaker had a body, and so did the person with him. They were obviously both resident souls, judging by the halo over each of their heads. And while he appreciated the courtesy, he had looked down the line just moments ago and he knew that these two were not next. He had seen no souls that still possessed their bodies.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry guys, but no cuts," he informed them. Any other office demon probably would have been annoyed at the presence of these two, but he was a patient one, and endured this intrusion with aplomb. "You'll have to go to the back of the line and wait until Lord Enma is ready to see you."  
  
"Um, yeah . . ." the speaker, a small bald fellow, with incense burns on his head and dressed in a suit of strange-looking armour, began. His tone was still polite, but while it was hesitant, it also contained a bit of an edge. "But this would probably qualify as a special case."  
  
Now, the office demon was annoyed. He gave these two his best frown, and put his hands on his hips. "Yes, it's always a special case. I hear that one a lot. It never works, boys, so I suggest that you –"  
  
"Oh, but I think we are, sir," the other figure finally spoke. This one was an elderly man, the lower half of his face mostly obscured by a bushy white moustache and matching beard. "Word of us has reached here, I would imagine? We're the two escapees from the Relegation Room."  
  
"I don't . . . What?" The office demon blinked in shock. These were the fugitives that had broken loose several weeks ago? Come to think of it, they did match the descriptions. But what were they doing here? Could they have finally decided that being on the run for eternity wasn't worth it and turned themselves in? Depending on how someone looked at it, this was either a very brave or a very stupid action. His bets were on the latter.  
  
But still, they were here, and it was his job to organize the souls before they got into Judgement. "I . . . I see. The two of you wait right here. I will speak to Lord Enma and find out whether or not he is ready to see you."  
  
He turned, and forced his legs to hurry into the admissions building. Regardless of the fact that the two fugitives turning themselves in was good news, Lord Enma was sure to be in a mood about this.  
  
He just prayed that the lord of the dead wouldn't kill the messenger.  
  
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Kuririn cringed when he heard the shouting going on inside the building just ahead of them. Not that he was feeling good about his impending Judgement before, but this took the confidence down an extra notch.  
  
He spared a glance at Gohan Senior as the office demon that they had approached exited the building, normally slicked hair looking mussed, and horn rimmed glasses hanging halfway off his face. Shaken up by all that shouting, Kuririn assumed. He couldn't blame him.  
  
"Lord Enma will see you two, now," the office demon said weakly, voice hoarse. "But you'd better hurry; he's in a mood and hates to be kept waiting."  
  
With a deep breath, Kuririn screwed up his courage and took a step forward. He could sense Gohan Senior moving right alongside him. They passed by the line of wisps, of souls, some of whom chattered in confusion. But while he noticed this, his thoughts were not on them. They remained solely focused on Judgement. First on Gohan Senior's, and then on his own.  
  
He was in so much trouble.  
  
The inside of this building was far more imposing than the last one he had been to in Otherworld. It was wide, with an impressively high ceiling, while ornate tapestries decorated the walls in colours of red, gold, and green. And though these features were striking, they could not compare to what sat at the room's very centre.  
  
Even on its own, the gigantic desk would have been quite the sight to see. Upon it were high stacks of papers, a phone that had to be at least two and a half times Kuririn's height, and what was perhaps the mother of all computers. But these were not what made Kuririn gulp. No, that would be the occupant of the desk. He was a tall, broad demon with crimson skin and horns sticking out of either side of his head. The thick black beard on his face and the navy blue suit that he wore bespoke that this guy meant business. The plaque on the desk read "The Honourable Enma", leaving no doubt who this particular demon was.  
  
This was Enma, the lord and judge of the dead.  
  
"Well, I'm surprised that the two of you had the nerve to show up here!" Lord Enma bellowed, his voice shaking the room to its foundations. Kuririn fought the urge to cover his ears. He had the distinct impression that doing so would only prompt the huge demon to shout even louder. Not exactly something that he had the great desire to hear.  
  
The room stopped shaking, and Kuririn felt compelled to say something. "Uh, I guess we figured that it was the right thing to do over all the trouble we've caused, sir. But before you pass Judgement, I just want to say that –"  
  
"Quiet," Lord Enma cut in smoothly. He did not raise his voice; he didn't have to in this case, and seemed to be quite aware of that fact. "Why don't we just save the excuses for after we've run down everything that you've pulled since you've been here."  
  
Kuririn swallowed, but nodded. He wasn't about to go and defy the lord of the dead. At least no more than he already had, considering his actions here in the afterlife.  
  
Lord Enma punched a few keys on his huge computer. "Let's see here. Breaking out of the Relegation Room . . ."  
  
Kuririn bowed his head at this.  
  
"Stealing two pieces of my sacred fruit from its tree in Hell . . ."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Kuririn saw Gohan Senior stiffen at this, and glance about the room in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone.  
  
"Resisting capture and subsequently inflicting severe injury on an enforcer."  
  
Kuririn laughed nervously. That certainly seemed like quite the list of crimes. Part of him wondered just how Lord Enma had acquired some of this information, but that really didn't strike him as being very important. He had doomed himself for sure. Him and his plans.  
  
"So," Lord Enma turned, and calmly rested his chin on one huge fist. His face wore an almost wicked smirk. "Are you ready to make your excuses, yet?"  
  
"Um . . . Heh, heh, heh," Kuririn rubbed at the back of his head, hating the nervous little laugh that had escaped him. It probably wasn't going to help his case. "Well, sir, I just want to say that all of this is utterly and completely my fault. I forced Gohan to come with me. He didn't do anything wrong."  
  
Lord Enma frowned, and cast a glance over to Gohan Senior. "Is this true? Were you forced into this scheme against your will?"  
  
The question seemed to give Gohan Senior pause. "Yes, sir, technically it is. But I think that –"  
  
"So it looks like kidnapping can get added to Kuririn's list of crimes, then." Lord Enma's stare landed on Kuririn again, taking on a darker edge than it had radiated previously. "This is quite the record that you've assembled for yourself, boy. But be thankful that it's not your turn yet. I'll deal with you in a minute."  
  
In a strange simultaneous pair of actions, Kuririn sighed in relief and blinked in confusion. Not his turn yet? So Lord Enma had decided that he would deal with Gohan Senior first. He wasn't quite sure whether this was a good thing or not, but he supposed that he would prefer things this way after all. It meant that he would get to know the old man's fate before being consigned to his own. Which was sure to be quite terrible, in light of everything.  
  
"Now. Son Gohan. Your case had come up for Judgement a few weeks ago . . . "  
  
Kuririn slapped his forehead. He had just spent all this time rescuing a guy who didn't need rescuing in the first place. Just another one of his bright moves, this one.  
  
" . . . and this is when you and Kuririn were discovered to be missing," Lord Enma continued. "Normally, any escape attempt is grounds for a very severe punishment, but since it has been confirmed that you were acting under duress . . ."  
  
Hope leapt up in Kuririn's throat. Lord Enma was going to let Gohan Senior off. He could feel it. Kuririn had not felt this reassured since a few moments before his death.  
  
"Thus it is my decision that your fate be the same as if you had never left relegation." A strange half smile, half grimace came upon Lord Enma's face. "Which means that you're headed up to Heaven. Lucky you."  
  
This brought a smile to Kuririn's face, and the relief that swept through his stomach was almost palpable. He was so overwhelmed by this that he almost missed what happened next.  
  
A pudgy blue office demon entered the room and put a hand on Gohan Senior's shoulder. "Come along, now. I'll escort you to your transportation."  
  
But to Kuririn's surprise, Gohan Senior jerked away from the office demon's hold. The old man's face was as stern and determined as he had ever seen it. "Not yet. I'll not leave until I learn of my companion's fate."  
  
Kuririn might have been touched by this, save for the fact that the new office demon and Lord Enma did not look very happy at this statement. Stunned into silence, he waited for the disagreement to break out.  
  
Lord Enma sighed angrily, a breath of air that knocked every person in the room flat on their backs. "Mortals. But in light of the fact that you've done nothing wrong in this, and the fact that I'm already sick of this case and want it over with, I'll let you stay. But not for one second past his sentencing. And no protesting."  
  
Shocked – this seemed to go against the huge demon's temperament – Kuririn climbed to his feet just as Gohan Senior nodded. His face paled as Lord Enma fixed a glare on him, grabbing a sheaf of paper from one side of his desk. Kuririn figured that this must be his file; perhaps his escape from the Relegation Room had made the search for his files more urgent and far shorter than the seventy or eighty years that a particular office demon had told him it may have taken.  
  
"So," Lord Enma began, flipping through the file's pages. "Let's figure out exactly what I'm going to do with you."  
  
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And as Kuririn's life and afterlife began their review, something of marked significance was happening on another plane.  
  
Black clouds rolled menacingly over a once blue sky, seemingly out of nowhere. These clouds were not storm summoned, or they could not be classified that by anyone who believed a weatherman. And since very few people did such – and rightly so – very few people found this to be a strange occurrence. That it happened so quickly caused the occasional eyebrow to lift in curiosity, but not the fact that it had happened at all.  
  
Of course, the huge, monstrous, creature that appeared in the sky once the clouds had settled in place was a little tougher for people to explain. Some stared in awe. Some screamed. And still others braced themselves for a horrible catastrophe, for what else could a creature such as this portend?  
  
But these varying states only lasted for a few moments, stopped by the words coming out of a megaphone. Nothing at all to worry about. Just some experimental work being done on the Capsule Corporation grounds. Such was not an uncommon thing in this city, so the residents relaxed upon hearing this news. A few people commented on the impressiveness of the work, while others commented on the Briefs family's sanity, or lack thereof. Either way, the explanation was all they had needed, and their lives instantly returned to normal.  
  
Normal save for the people at this enormous creature's base, the only ones who truly knew what was going on. No, their lives were not back to normal yet, but they were working on that at this very moment.  
  
A child with green skin and antennae spoke a few words to the creature. In response, the creature's eyes glowed red, and then it spoke itself. And the people at its base were stunned by its words.  
  
But the stunned feelings were mixed with joy, and once more the tiny green child spoke to the creature. With a nod of affirmation, the creature focused its power to do what it had been bidden . . .  
  
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It wasn't often that Lord Enma got to see the face of someone who feared his impending fate. Oh, many who came to him feared their fates, to be sure, but most of them had been stripped of their bodies. No bodies meant no faces, and a greater difficulty to detect fear.  
  
But this one, Kuririn, had a face, and it was afraid. Something that Lord Enma got an honest kick out of. It was fun to freak someone out every now and again. And he would like to do more to this one than make him afraid. He would like to deprive him of his body and send him into the depths of Hell for the whole fiasco that he had perpetrated here in Otherworld.  
  
The only problem was that he might not be able to. While Kuririn had been ill behaved in this world, his file showed that his life worked in his favour. He had done a lot of good, which made this decision rather difficult. Lord Enma frowned; sometimes he hated having to be impartial.  
  
But his job was his job, and this case had already frayed his nerves too much. His decision would be quick and final, thus freeing him from having to see this irritating mortal ever again.  
  
He closed the file, and folded his hands on his desk. Always best to look proper and official. "I've come to a decision. Kuririn, you are hereby . . ."  
  
His lips stopped as the small form of Kuririn wavered in front of him. The tiny human looked rather befuddled for his part, and stared down at his hands in confusion. And just as Kuririn wavered, he soon vanished from sight altogether.  
  
All was quiet for a moment. The other human, Son Gohan, was rooted to the spot, staring at the place where his companion had once stood. Even the office demon beside him looked on with a puzzled expression on his face. Neither seemed to know what had just happened.  
  
Lord Enma did, however. He had seen enough resurrections to recognize one when he saw it. And he could easily guess just what the instrument of resurrection was.  
  
"Stupid Dragonballs," he muttered irritably, wishing that he could have at least stated Kuririn's sentence. He cast an annoyed look at Son Gohan and the office demon, who still had not moved. "Well, what are you two waiting for? You've got an assignment, so get out of my sight!"  
  
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When the world had begun to waver around him, and he had looked down to see his hands fading, Kuririn was very afraid that his body was being taken from him and that this was the beginning of a horrible punishment. But confusion replaced fear when he found himself with his body still intact and in an entirely new location. And the sky around him was completely black. So much so that it reminded him of . . .  
  
"Kuririn! You're back!"  
  
He didn't even have time to register shock as a young child rushed up to him and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. Before he took the time to breathe, he determined who was squeezing him with such force. Gohan. Not the old man with whom he had spent the past several weeks, but the five- year-old whom he had last seen in dire peril on Nameksei. What in the world . . .  
  
He reached up and tapped the boy on the shoulder. "Um . . . hey, Gohan; I need to breathe."  
  
"Oh!" The boy pulled back, flushing a little in embarrassment but at the same time grinning wildly. "I'm sorry. I was just so happy . . ."  
  
Kuririn looked around in disbelief at what he saw. Bulma and her parents. ChiChi. Muten Roshi, and even Oolong and Puar. And strangely enough, he also found Dende and several dozen other Namekseijin standing right in front of him.  
  
While the sight before him did not much clear up Kuririn's confusion, the sight behind him did. He turned to find a massive green creature, looking more like an overgrown and over-muscled salamander than anything else. But that was not what it was, of course. Kuririn had seen this creature before.  
  
Porunga, the Namekian dragon.  
  
The upshot of all of this was that he must have been returned to life. He put his hand over his chest to make certain, and sure enough a heart beat under his fingers. Somehow, every one had survived – or been resurrected, in the case of Dende and the other Namekseijin – and had made new wishes. And judging from most of the company, this was Earth.  
  
Muten Roshi calmly walked over to him, his cane lightly tapping the ground at each step. "So, Kuririn, my boy, how did the afterlife treat you this time around?" asked the old master, obviously in a good temper. He laid a hand on Kuririn's shoulder.  
  
Kuririn glanced up at Porunga once again. His mind travelled back to Otherworld, where Gohan Senior must be very confused by now. They had been through their fair share of strangeness together in these last few weeks, and the old man was likely to be scratching his head at this one for a good long while. At least he would be doing so in Heaven.  
  
"Kuririn?" Muten Roshi's hand shook his shoulder. Behind him, Kuririn could hear the group making plans to resurrect Yamucha. "What happened?"  
  
With a smile, Kuririn turned back to Porunga. He didn't want to miss Yamucha's rebirth if he could help it.  
  
As Dende began translating the wish into the Namekseijin language, Kuririn responded. "Treated me well enough, I guess. Not really that much to say about it."  
  
It was often said that dead men told no tales. Perhaps, Kuririn reflected, it was simply because they were too bizarre to relate. 


End file.
